


Murder By Numbers

by Cyberrat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Child Death, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-14 21:26:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2203638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberrat/pseuds/Cyberrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Peter Hale had been found by Kate Argent after the fire when he'd been vulnerable and disoriented. What if Chris had never been able to forget the wolf.<br/>What if they see each other after seven years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Claire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/gifts), [corullance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/corullance/gifts).



> This story is based on [ this post ](http://moonlettuce.tumblr.com/post/94107833219/corullinterests-moonlettuce) on tumblr. So if you want to spoil yourself, go ahead and read it :) otherwise just sit back and enjoy.
> 
> Many, many, many fat thanks to: [ Claire ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire) ([ Moonlettuce ](http://moonlettuce.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr) and [ Corullance ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/corullance/pseuds/corullance) ([ Corullinterest ](http://corullinterests.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr) for pitching in with help when I got stuck. Which was often.
> 
> Also fat thanks to: [ MoMoMomma ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma) ([ MoMoMomma2 ](http://momomomma2.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr) for being a fabulous Beta and also listening to me whine and helping me. <3
> 
> And more fat thanks to: [ 1234halefire ](http://1234halefire.tumblr.com/), [ Capsforeskin ](http://capsforeskin.tumblr.com/) and [ Screaming-Towards-Apotheosis ](http://screaming-towards-apotheosis.tumblr.com/) for being very supportive and inquiring about the status of the fic and being generally kind and awesome.
> 
> \---  
> The fic is already complete and will be updated two times a day.

He is on his first date in a fancy restaurant with Victoria when the call comes. She smiles graciously at his apology and barely twitches with one sharply plucked eyebrow at his breathy “What?!”

He almost bounces into one of the other tables in his haste to get out of the room, away from murmuring voices and laughter, hoping somewhere in the back of his head that he didn’t understand correctly. That this all was a huge misunderstanding.

“There was a fire,” one of his father’s men is saying when he asks him sharply to repeat himself. “The Hales are dead. Every one of them. We are not yet sure what caused the flames, the police are everywhere and we can’t get close enough.”

“How could that happen?” Chris asks sharply, feeling helpless and angry. There’s a hand on his shoulder which he shrugs off with a growl, head snapping around to scream at whoever is touching him. The words die in his throat when he sees Victoria, face carefully blank and blue eyes intent on him.

He gets distracted by the man on the phone. “They seemed to have all been in the basement…”

“Tonight’s been the night of the Worm Moon,” Victoria murmurs next to him and Chris closes his eyes because he remembers Peter telling him something a week ago when they were having one of their useless little meetings. One of those where they were sneaking around each other, pretending to further the relationships between hunters and werewolves but really only mooning from afar.

“Of course. They’ve been celebrating,” he rasps. His fingers feel numb so he curls them around his phone until he can hear it creak with the strain. “No one survived?”

‘ _He can’t be dead. He just… can’t.’_

“No one, sir. The Hale pack is dead.”

Chris has no idea when Victoria has hunted down a taxi but when he gets off the phone, feeling shell shocked and sick, she bundles him into the back and tells the driver where to bring them.

It’s been the first time Chris has seen this young woman but she is competent and cool headed and he thinks even as his heart is breaking that he is honoured to marry her.

.oOo.

_Chris looks down at the dead rabbit Peter had thrown at his feet and frowns._

_“How crude.” He glances up at the young wolf, watching Peter dab gingerly at the bloody corners of his mouth with a white handkerchief._

_“Is it?” Peter asks in a drawn out way that sounds almost_ too _bored. Chris narrows his eyes a little and looks at the dead animal once more._

_“I thought wolves hunted for survival. Not just for sport. It didn’t deserve to die.”_

_“Oh?” Peter’s sharp, blue eyes were immediately on Chris, watching him like the predator that he was. “Did the wolves_ you _killed deserve to be slashed in half?”_

_Chris’ eyebrows pull tightly together. Peter was strangely aggressive today. The young wolf looked mulish and angry as he cleaned the few blood splatters from his fingers. There also were a couple on his white shirt with the plunging neckline Chris secretly admired every time he saw the attractive wolf._

_When Peter noticed, he growled, lips pulled up in a snarl as he tried to save the garment with unduly shaking fingers. What was_ wrong _with him?_

_“Everything alright?” Chris asked after a short debate with himself. Usually they feigned careful indifference… but this time seemed strange and out of place._

_“Yes!” Peter hissed, stuffing the soiled handkerchief in the back pocket of his tight jeans, arms coming up to cross in front of his chest. He looked every inch the rebellious young man that he was._

_Chris never realized_ how _young Peter was with his nineteen years._

_“Talia greets you,” the wolf offered after a while without looking at the hunter. Chris snorted and shook his head. Turned around. (A horrible idea. Gerard would thrash him if he knew Chris had turned his back at a wolf.)_

_“Maybe I should go.”_

_He could hear the soft cracking of leaves behind him. His hand was at his gun before he consciously registered what was happening. A clawed grip around his bicep whirls him around and the air gets punched out of him by the tree trunk in his back but the mouth of the gun his pressed secure beneath the chin of the wolf._

_Peter’s eyes were glowing bright blue, face set into determined lines for a couple seconds before the expression melts off and leaves behind confusion and guilt._

_Chris had to take a deep breath. He knew Peter could hear his frantic heartbeat but he was loath to give even more ground, so he kept his face calm, voice steady as he asked, “Better?”_

_And he was almost sure Peter was about to nod but then the boy shook his head and kept staring at Chris’ chest with his hand still curled tightly around the hunter’s bicep, leaving them in a stalemate that made Chris’ head throb in pain._

_Chris slowly made a show out of pulling his gun away, head casting around for something - anything - to fall back on, so he just blurted the first titbit that came to mind._

_“Offering dead or live animals is also a way of courting for a lot of carnivorous species.”_

_He wants to kick himself as soon as it leaves his mouth but it’s out and nothing to be done about it._

_Peter almost physically flinches, his gaze finally settling back on Chris’ face from where he had been staring off to the side._

_What the hunter saw in the wolf’s face made his stomach cramp and the palms of his hands get sweaty._

_“Peter…”_

_A soft ‘mpf!’ sound gets pressed out of him as the boy surges forward and smashes their mouths together. Chris is tall and almost lanky, still working on building up muscle, so Peter has to strain to reach to him until he gets yanked down by impatient hands, only following too easily because of  his own desire to open the greedy mouth up with slow swipes of his tongue._

_They’ve never kissed before. It is exciting just as much as it is daunting to finally acknowledge what had been brewing between them the past weeks. Peter is trembling where he is pressed against the hunter, fingernails a little too sharp for comfort as they dig into the back of Chris’ neck. His mouth is open and wet, needy as he welcomes Chris inside himself._

_Peter was still so new to this - needily responsive as he was. Soft, choked off whimpers spill from his throat and into Chris’ greedy mouth with every slippery tongue movement; every slow, sensuous suck on the wolf’s plump bottom lip._

_When they part, they’re both panting, color high on their cheeks and lips shiny with spit even as Peter crowds closer, hands sliding to Chris’ shoulders and fisting into the fabric of his jacket._

_“I don’t want you to get married off,” the wolf whispered against Chris’ neck where he had tucked his heated face away._

_“Oh… Oh, Peter,” the hunter sighed back, arms a little clumsy as he put them around the boy. “You can’t always get what you want. No one can.”_

_“I_ always _get what I want,” Peter hissed, teeth sharp against Chris’ collarbone as he mouthed at it._

.oOo.

Peter’s death had hit him hard. Was _still_ hitting him hard.

Chris sometimes wondered what would have happened to him if he hadn’t had Victoria at his side.

A woman not only willing to stay through his obsession with the Hale fire but also with his obsession with a dead man. A dead wolf.

She was even _helpful_ , driving with him to the burned down husk of the house again and again, indulging him in looking for clues as to what had _happened_. Indulging him in his dark moods and destructive behaviour until it became time to _move on_.

And move on they did; moved on and away from Beacon Hills. From a broken down house and a burned down family that would haunt Chris for the rest of his life because there were so many unanswered _questions_.

The fire simply couldn’t have started without outward influence. They’ve all been in the rocky basement where flames would not have been able to eat anything had not someone splashed it with chemicals. They would have been able to get out, had there not been the door drenched in liquid wolfsbane.

Nobody would have known that the Hales would celebrate the Worm Moon in the basement of their house that year instead of running through the preserve as it was custom.

He wonders constantly - sometimes out loud - whether he could have prevented it from happening if he had only been there. He very aggressively wonders this on nights he drank too much - had been alone too much.

He rarely remembers on the painful mornings afterwards what he had accused his wife of when she finally came home from settling their life in Los Angeles - from _providing_ for them as her young husband went to pieces at home. He only knows that it must have been ugly - full of _Hadn’t I been made to marry you_ and _Had I met you a day later_ and _Had I only left my family when the time was right_. And the ever devastating _Had I only told him_.

Victoria never fought with him, though. She was too classy a woman to do so. No, Victoria took the reigns instead. She filled the place in the Argent hierarchy that his mother had left behind and that Kate was still too inexperienced to take over.

She threw him into the training room with a hand fisted in the back of his shirt and told him to ‘get a move on’ and when nothing happened, she _made_ him do it. (He had never been more respectful of a woman than after Victoria first pulled of her sharp, sharp knifes.)

She was a godsend, wrenching him out of the funk he had fallen into until thinking about the fire wasn’t like touching an open wound and more like a persistent pain located somewhere inside his body.

He still thought about it - but it wasn’t immediate anymore. No longer acute in a way that made him useless.

And then Vic got pregnant and his obsession took a step back for something new and good.

Occasionally, though, he still thought of Peter. What potential the young man had had. With his whole life still before him.

.oOo.

_Peter looks gorgeous on his knees, blinking up at him from the vicinity of his bulging crotch. The wolf tries to seem in charge and like it isn’t a big deal but his fingers are trembling ever so slightly and his breath fans out in nervous puffs against the sliver of skin exposed between Chris’ rucked up shirt and the band of his shorts._

_“I only do it if you promise not to marry her.”_

_Chris barks out a laugh and lets his head fall back against the tree, one slightly trembling hand settling in Peter’s hair, fingers twining into the soft strands._

_“Is that your newest plot?” he asks and it is so hard to think when Peter is fishing his cock out of the slit in his shorts and cold forest air hits his skin._

_“Kate would promise it to Derek,” Peter says and he sounds so petulant that Chris shoots him an incredulous look._

_“I don’t think so. And could we please_ not _talk about my baby sister now?” He nearly bites the tip of his tongue as Peter suddenly surges forward, slightly open mouth only centimetres from the engorged head of his cock._

_He can see and feel the slit on the smooth head moving - like a little mouth expanding and contracting in anticipation as Peter’s warm breath tickles him._

_“It smells…” Peter doesn’t tell him what it smells like, glowing blue eyes almost crossing as he gingerly snakes out that wicked tongue of his and laps against the heated, tight skin._

_Chris grits his teeth together, can feel the muscles in his jaw jumping as he tightens his grip in Peter’s hair. His wolf moans low and delirious, lips plush and wet as they mouth over the crown of his cock. He suddenly does no longer seem unsure as he settles them in a kiss exactly around that moving, little slit and suckles._

_“Peter… fuck!” Chris hisses, hips angling towards the wet suction and balls throbbing where they were still trapped in the shorts._

_“Next time.”_

_Chris blinks stupidly up into the dark canopy above them before he raises his head and looks down, watching as Peter nuzzles his face against the base of his cock, pulling in deep, greedy breaths._

_“Next time you can fuck me,” Peter whispers, tongue snaking out to reverently lap along the thick cock, mouthing and suckling at it on his way up. “You smell so good… you smell so good, Christopher.”_

_Peter’s voice is high. He sounds lost as he crowds closer almost between Chris’ legs, pupils blown disconcertingly wide. “Why do you smell so good?” he whimpers and opens his mouth so eagerly as he fucks Chris’ cock into it._

_It is sloppy and uncoordinated - Chris’ shorts are soaked with spit around the base of his cock but he can’t bring himself to slow Peter down. Not when the boy was so eager, moaning prettily as he tried to fuck his throat open with the cock he had in a possessive grip. He didn’t quite manage it. The wet gagging sound was beautiful and filthy in the hunter’s ears, the convulsing muscles squeezing his cockhead almost painfully._

_He doesn’t think that he had ever had as enthusiastic a blowjob as this but if he thought about it, it didn’t surprise him that of_ course _Peter Hale would be the one to give it to him._

_The prickling in the small of his back, right at the base of his spine almost took him by surprise. He had been attuned to the wet noises of filthy sucking coming from between his legs, occupied with watching Peter’s face all splotchy and needy as his eyebrows drew together into a frown of concentration, so_ eager _to get the deepthroating done._

_It was, in the end, pure instinct that had Chris tightening his slackened grip on Peter’s dark hair once more, heat shooting right to his balls as he listened to the plainly confused whine the wolf made upon getting yanked from his treat._

_“Christo…”_

_Chris’ free hand was jacking his wet cock even as he doubled over, lungs burning with the breath that got punched out of him. He felt ridiculously weak-kneed with every pulse of intermingling lust-pain that washed through his body._

_“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes clamped shut as he gently wrung the last dribbles of cum from his over-sensitive cock, pulling in huge gulps of air as he finally righted himself again._

_Peter made quite the sight - face painted in stripes of the hunter’s cum, swollen mouth red and open in an ‘o’ of surprise as he stared up at Chris._

_“I’m… I’m sorry,” the hunter breathed awkwardly, fingers finally loosening in Peter’s hair when he got aware of how his knuckles hurt from it._

_Peter’s subsequent swallow was almost ridiculously loud, eyes going heavy lidded and warm in a way Chris had never before seen._

_“You’ve marked me,” the boy murmured, sounding punch-drunk as he swayed forward and rested his forehead against Chris’ hipbone._

_Chris was helpless to let Peter rest with his cock still out in the air, feeling now too cold with the spit and cum cooling on it._

_In a couple minutes, he’d offer to reciprocate. But for now, they both enjoyed the afterglow._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware that the warning for Child Death is for this chapter.

“I’m so excited for you guys to get here!”

Chris grunts a little and dubiously eyes the screen where Kate’s smiling face is grinning at him. He can hear Victoria shower in the bathroom of the hotel they’ve turned into for the night and kind of wishes she was there to be a buffer between him and Kate’s too perceptive eyes.

“We’ve seen each other just last month for Allison’s birthday,” he rumbles. Kate clicks her tongue, a cat-like grin curling the corners of her mouth as she drawls, “Yeah, but I’ve been telling you, I wanted to _show_ you something for so _long_ now. And I can only do that when _you,_ dear brother, are _here_. In Beacon Hills.”

Chris feels cold and and as if he’s about to get sick as he hears the name. He’s been in a bad mood ever since his father told him the gathering would happen at their old house in BH. He had never wanted to go back there. Never.

Kate’s face falls for just a second at his reaction, eyes getting sharp and icy as she scrutinizes him over the webcam he tries to unsuccessfully duck out of.

“Chris!” she hisses sharp and scandalized, “Don’t tell me you’re _still_ butthurt about that?”

“About what?” he asks, and his stomach hurts at the way his brain immediately supplies him with _You’re just as mulish as him._

“The Hale fire. _Chris_. It’s been _seven years_. Get a grip!”

He almost wants to correct her. Wants to say it’s not been seven years, but seven years and three months - but he realizes how obsessive that would sound, so he keeps silent.

“C’mon, cheer up. Aren’t you even a _little_ curious about my surprise? You’ve _never_ asked.”

“Because you’ve been pestering me for years with it and I know it’s gonna be ridiculous.”

“I wouldn’t have pestered you if you had just stopped being a big baby and come to Beacon Hills so I could show you.”

“Just _tell_ me already!”

“Oh, Chris. Believe me.” Kate leaned forward, her eyes twinkling with a dark intent that made the small hairs on his body stand up in disgust. “Words… wouldn’t do it justice.”

“Wouldn’t do _what_ justice?”

Allison padded out of the bathroom, bringing with her a billowing cloud of steam. She was swathed in a small bathrobe, dark hair hidden in a large towel. She crawls up on her father’s lap and when Chris looks over, he can see Victoria in the foggy bathroom mirror, rubbing her own, short hair dry.

He is so entranced for a moment by the sight of her naked, strong arms, that he barely registers Kate’s enthusiastic, “Hey, Baby!” and her subsequent, “My surprise for you guys.”

“A surprise?!” Allison almost falls off of her father’s lap, her still moist hands pulling the laptop closer so she can put her pink face right in front of the camera. “Is it a puppy?!”

Chris groans, hauling her back and closer to his body so she wouldn’t topple down.

“ _No_ dog, Allison,” he sighs for the umpteenth time, shooting Kate a sharp, pissed-off glare as she smiles secretive and purrs, “Who knows?”

.oOo.

_Peter has to look again and again to make sure he is still grabbing the arm of one of his little nephews. His body is shaking and barely responsive, nerves screaming in pain at the flames that have seared the fabric of his clothes into his skin._

_He can still hear the screams and roaring of the fire behind but he is no longer sure whether they are real or just embedded in his head._

_He wants to do something - stand up and crawl back into the inferno, preferably, to see whether he can save any of the other pups - but his body just doesn’t want to react and he still has to look out for the pup he’s having his claws on. The only one he had been able to grab and pull out the burst window._

_His mouth is open, lips feeling dry and cracked as he pulls in the cool March air into is ruined lungs. He almost misses it - the sound of footsteps on the dry soil of the forest. The soft smell wafting over his nose._

_The smell is familiar enough that he bursts out in a low sob, voice destroyed as he garbles “Chrisssss” and lifts the hand with his nephew. He wants to say “Look at him! Do something!” but the words just won’t come out sounding right._

_“I got some stragglers over here!”_

_Peter blinks with crusty eyelids. That’s Kate. Kate isn’t as good as Chris but she still smells enough like_ mate, _like_ home _, to soothe him._

_There are more footsteps running close and then Kate steps into his periphery, a frown on her pretty face as she scrutinizes the distorted way Peter is lying on the ground. She turns and inspects the swath he must have left behind him in the dirt._

_“You’ve crawled quite a distance,” she comments. Peter frowns because he doesn’t see what that has to do with anything. He is flickering in and out of consciousness, his body is a wreck and he still can’t quite fathom what had happened. His mind is shying away from the fact screams of his pack._

_He raises his trembling arm, offers up the pup he was still clutching._

_There are men crowding in his peripheral vision, now - men with rifles and dark expressions. They look hellish in the flickering light of the burning house._

_Kate hums and steps closer, her leg extending to nudge at the burned carcass of his smallest nephew._

_“Dead. Like the rest of them.” She glances back over her shoulder at the house, mumbles “Hopefully.”_

_Peter’s mouth falls open and his blood runs cold. He can only gape at Kate as she turns back towards him and smiles, hunkering down to pat his burned, sooty cheek._

_“I’d hoped to get Derek but you’ll do quite nicely as well, won’t you?”_

_One of the men forces his clawed hand apart, kicks the lifeless body of his nephew aside._

_As they pull him up to his feet and start dragging him away, Peter finds the breath to scream in abject horror and disgust. He should have seen it coming. He should have._

_“Brian? Call Gerard, would you? And afterwards, my brother. You know what to do.”_

_In the distance, the sound of a police siren could be heard._

_.oOo._

Kate shoved the large door carelessly open. She surveyed the dingy room beyond briefly before seeing her charge curled up in one of the corners.

“Hey, Sweetheart!” she chirps, pulling the little cart with all the utensils over the threshold. Peter doesn’t answer but she never expects him to. It is hard for him to talk around the fangs in his mouth and his input on things very rarely is needed anyway.

“Come here,” she calls, her palm slapping against her thigh once. It is still gratifying to hear the wolf immediately scramble across the stone floor until he is crouched in front of her.

“Good boy,” Kate mumbles and sits slowly down in one of the chairs. She stretches her legs with a soft sigh, putting her chin in one hand as she watches Peter, eyes sliding across the dirty, naked wolf.

“We need to get you cleaned up,” she announces after a minute of nothing but silence, eyes trailing over the leather belts curled around biceps and wrists and the thick one around her boy’s neck. They’re dirty like the rest of him and she will need to check for the contacts whether they are still sufficiently touching his skin.

“We will have guests later today,” she tells him with a soft smile that turns large and sincere when something in the dull blue eyes _sparks_ and the wolf suddenly gets into motion, turning around and curling his strong back in an enticing arch that puts his ass on display.

“Oh no, Sweetheart. Not _these_ kinds of guests,” she coos, leaning forward and patting the muscled curve of his ass. “C’mon. Stop with the shenanigans. I need to get you pretty again, baby boy. Nobody wants to see a beast - especially a dirty one.” She reaches one of her hands out, voice dropping to a gentle purr, “Are you grateful, Sweetheart?”

Kate opens her legs wide to accommodate the broad shoulders of her pet as Peter crawls close, tongue lapping at her fingertips, always mindful of the sharp fangs in his mouth.

“Very good. Now - hold still. I wouldn’t want to _hurt_ you.”

.o.

“ _Peter!”_ Kate hisses as if scandalized but barely able to conceal her laugh as the wolf seizes up once again and falls to the ground in body wrecking seizures the longer Kate holds down the button for the electricity to get pushed through the belts.

She lets go of the button and as her pet starts gathering himself up from the floor, she lazily wipes the blood from the blade in her hand. When Peter is sitting upright once more - if swaying slightly from side to side - the wound in his cheek is already closed.

“Clumsy puppy,” she scolds gently as she reaches for his face. He flinches away from her hand, eyes large in his face and hands curled into tight fists that are bleeding from the claws. “Peter!” Her eyebrows are drawn together, mouth pulled down in a frown as she surges forward and seizes his chin in a tight grip, wrenching him forward once more. “Bad boy! You don’t want Mommy to get angry with you right before our guests arrive, do you?”

The fingernails of her other hand, sharp and polished perfectly, slowly dig into the soft cheek, pressing it inwards until he has to open his jaw if he doesn’t want to rip into his own flesh. He is still trembling though she isn’t sure whether because of the electricity or his own nerves.

“Do you?” she asks again, thumb sliding over to hook into the corner of his mouth and stretch it to the side. He is limp in her hands again, even though his eyes are still large and kind of spooked looking - no longer as dull as they had been in the beginning. Which could be good or bad.

Peter carefully shakes his head from left to right. Kate hums, eyebrows still drawn into a frown as she lets her thumb test the sharpness of his fangs. She unhooks it and cradles his face in her palms, critical gaze traveling over what she had done to his beard. The wolf is eerily still during her inspection, only little puffs of air against her fingertips showing that he is even still breathing.

After a while she nods and rasps the edge of one fingernail over the little stubble she’d left.

“Looks good,” she declares, letting go of his face and raising one leg to plant her boot onto his naked chest and kick. He isn’t resisting - just lets himself get toppled over and lies on his back.

“Stay,” she demands as she slips out of her boots and wriggles her pants down. “You can be a good boy and make up for your mistake.”

His mouth, when she sits down on his face, is soft and welcoming, eyes intent as he stares up at her from between her thighs. The eagerness with which he curls his tongue out and drags it slowly from bottom to top, makes Kate laugh breathlessly, her fingers spearing into his hair to hold on tight.

“You’re pathetic,” she gasps, hips twisting to press down in a different angle on his mouth. “Suck. C’mon, Sweetheart. Suck me… yeah. That’s right. Pathetic excuse for a werewolf.”

She slowly rides his face, loving the way he greedily sucks at all the ripe, wet flesh he can reach, tongue shameless even as she drags her ass across it. His new haircut is perfect - small stubbles scraping deliciously over her swollen clit and dragging against the folds of her cunt, providing her with just the right amount of pain.

“Look at you. ‘S the only thing you’re good for, Peter. Last member of the big, powerful Hale pack reduced to nothing but a wet tongue and a needy little hole.”

She giggles at the pain flashing in his eyes as she grinds her cunt down on the proud jut of his strong chin, a throaty moan dragging out of her. Sometimes she can’t believe how perfect Peter is for it - everything shaped to just _please_. To provide pleasure and a pastime for others.

Kate rides him for a while, hips twisting and fucking her wet cunt all over his face - rubbing her scent into him until even the dogs she’s sometimes holding him with would whine and crawl away from him. Peter is _hers_.

When her thighs get too tired of riding his face, she sits down hard, smothering him beneath her weight until she can feel the firmness of his mouth and the nervous tremble of his lips; until she can tell him sharply to watch out with his fangs, just so she can watch him panicking because he can’t pull them back, now, can he?

“Ridiculous little fuckpet,” she purrs, sharp fingernails digging into his skull as she hears his claws dragging over the concrete - fighting against the instinct to shove her away and drag in huge lungfulls of air.

It’s his little whine of panic that finally tips her over - the small sound travelling right up her center and settling deep in her belly where she feels warm and fuzzy, the coil that’s been winding tighter and tighter over the past minutes releasing a flood of warmth and contentment that makes her hips stutter against his plush mouth and wet tongue, and a soft sigh drag out of her.

Slipping to the side and letting Peter up for air is almost an afterthought. The wolf curls immediately on his side, hands coming up to claw at his own head as he shudders and jerks through his forceful breaths, wet eyes blinking against the tears that are threatening to fall and making his blue eyes all the brighter.

He is beautiful when he hurts. Her little pet.

She lets him lie on the floor, feeling magnanimous as she gingerly pads over to the hose in the corner. Usually she makes him wash himself but he’s been having a hard day and she doesn’t want to tucker him out completely before she can show him to Chris.

He’s sopping wet when she finally cuts off the water and hunkers down next to him. She can see the muscles in his jaw quivering with how tight he has grit his sharp teeth.

“It was a little cold, I know. I’m sorry, Sweetheart,” she murmurs distractedly as she inspects the leather belts looped around his extremities, checking the contacts over. “You’ll get warm real soon, though. I promise.”

Before she leaves him, Kate reaches for the last item on the cart and unfolds the jeans which she throws towards Peter with a bright smile.

“There you go, baby boy. Put them on, will you? You’re allowed to wear them while they’re here. I don’t think Chris is too keen on seeing your junk.”

She leaves her pet, feeling his stunned gaze at her back.

.oOo.

_“No.” Kate doesn’t flinch back like her men as the Beta rams forward and smashes into the bars of the large cage. His claws are sharp as they slash through the air only centimetres in front of her face._

_“No,” she says again, patient and clearly pronounced as she unfolds the electric baton with a lazy flick of her wrist. “You’re a very bad boy.”_

_“I will_ kill _you. I will_ rip you apart and feast on your flesh! _” The corner of her mouth folds into a moue of distaste but lightens up when she jerks her arm with the baton up and the wolf immediately steps back, electric blue eyes bright in his still burned face._

_“See? And that’s why your kind needs to be trained. Needs to be shown where you belong - at the foot of a master.”_

_“I will never bow to you._ Argent _.” He spits the last out like it’s a foul taste in his mouth which only makes her laugh, eyes narrowing like a contented cat._

_“And yet I already broke one of you down, Hale. Wasn’t even hard. Not hard at all. Little Derek was so_ eager _, too._ You _will be my masterpiece, though. When I’m done with you, you will say_ please _and_ thank you _for the privilege of licking the dirt off of the soles of my boots.”_

_Peter’s movements are still jerky, every motion paragraphing painful, burned nerve endings as he howls his grieve out with an earth shattering roar, making Kate wince and rub at her ear with one hand._

_“Oh dear,” she says when the howl has finally stopped bouncing off of the walls of the dungeon, “Calling for your Alpha? Your pack? How awkward… since they’re all fucking_ dead _. Nobody left to search for a poor, lost Beta, Sweetheart. Or… wait... doesn’t that make you an_ Omega _?”_

_The sound with which Peter slams into the bars of the cage once more is part sob and part roar, silvery tears trickling down his sooty, burned face. His brilliant blue eyes with their pinprick pupils were fixed on Kate with murderous intent._

_“No, bad dog,” Kate tells him before she raises the baton and sends streams of crackling electricity through the wolf’s body until Peter falls to the ground in a jerking mess of limbs._

_“Get the harness,” she tells her men without taking her eyes off her prey._


	3. Chapter 3

Chris would love to lay his head down on Victoria’s shoulder as she checks over her throwing knifes but the sitting room in his father’s old house, with all the available space stuffed full of hunters is _not_ the place to show such weakness.

From the way Vic looks at him out of the corners of her eyes, she knows exactly what he’s thinking and moves slightly towards him, bumping her elbow in a gesture of solidarity into his side.

“I want you to try the compartmentalization technique again, later. You look horrible.” He smiles without fun, head drooping forward as he stares at his slightly restless fingers. Victoria, of course, sees it as well.

“What’s on your mind?” she asks softly, her voice dark in a way that always reminds him of an old, smooth whiskey. It’s soothing.

“I don’t like that Kate puts Allison to bed.”

Victoria snorts, her voice surprisingly gentle as she says, “Allison adores Kate. You should not take that joy from her by being so overprotective. At any rate…” Victoria raises her hand and slowly twirls the throwing knife in her fingers, the dark, gleaming steel catching the light of the fireplace and reflecting in both hunters’ blue, attentive eyes. “Kate would never hurt her. If she knows what’s good for her.”

“I do.”

They don’t flinch but it’s a close call. Victoria huffs as she lets the knife slip back into her sleeve and turns slightly so she can politely smile at Kate as the younger woman stalks across the room like a big cat. She is grinning but the show of her teeth looks sharper than is actually necessary.

“I wouldn’t dream of harming a curly hair on her head. She’s like my own daughter.” Chris huffs but he smiles a little as well. It wasn’t Kate’s fault that he he’s been so on edge the whole two days they’ve been there - scatterbrained throughout all the long-winded gatherings of various hunter families because he just couldn’t forget where he was. Couldn’t forget that he’d only need to drive ten minutes until he’d saw the burned-out husk of a house that had been home to a large family with so many innocent children.

( _Peter.)_

He’d been pathetically thankful for Victoria’s dominant, no-nonsense presence. Sometimes he wonders what would happen if she wasn’t there to pick up his slack. He seriously doesn’t want to know.

In the end, Kate was a wonderful aunt and Allison adored her and it was a disservice to think that she’d ever harm her niece just because she took her job as a huntress so very, very seriously.

“Sooo… it seems like the Calaveras are agreeing that we should be stricter in our handling of the monsters.” Kate was dragging her fingertips along the backrest of the other couch as she slowly made her way past it, watching her brother and sister-in-law out of the corners of her eyes.

Chris grits his teeth, shoulders going tight as he stands up because he can’t have this discussion - _again_ \- sitting down.

“Would you just let it _go_ , Kate!” he hisses, only slightly softening his aggressive stance when Victoria softly clears her throat behind him. He takes a deep breath, watching as his sister rolls her eyes in annoyance. “Why do you want to change everything? We’ve had our code for centuries and we’ve done well in following it. It is a thing of _protection_.”

Kate makes a sound like an angry cat, tossing her hair back, as she pins Chris with a hard, scrutinizing glare.

“Aren’t you _sick_ of being passive? Of always taking the abuse? Your dear code allows us nothing but to _react_. We have to sit and twiddle our thumbs, waiting for something to happen and _then_ we can strike. When it is _too late_ , Chris. We’re closing the barn door after the horses have escaped, don’t you see it?!”

She leans forward, hands braced on the backrest of the couch and fingers digging into the fabric until Chris almost fears she will rip holes into his father’s upholstery.

“Do you want to wait until they’ve ripped Allison apart? Huh, Chris? Do you want to sit there on your high and mighty horse and wait until they come for her? Because we are _Argents_. _They_ know our name. They _fear_ us. Allison is the weakest link in the chain and they will _come_ for her.”

Chris bristles, hand going for the gun strapped against his thigh, fingers curling tight around the handle. “They should only try,” he growls, realizing his mistake too late as he sees the triumph flare up in Kate’s eyes, the almost reptilian grin spreading on her face.

“So you agree with me. They’re dangerous and they should be _put down_ if they can’t _adapt_.”

“Adapt, adapt! You always say they should _adapt_. But _how,_ Kate?! You can’t pigeonhole them all just because they’re werewolves. They’re _persons_ as well.”

Kate’s eyes narrow, shoulders going tight as she seizes her brother up slowly with a kind of cold regard that has Chris almost shudder.

“You’re blinded by that little friendship you’ve had with the Hales. You think they’re _human_ , Chris. But they are not. They might be harmless - but only when trained. Werewolves are nothing but animals. They react illogical to threats and sometimes they are just _rabid_. Train them, and they can be the sweetest, most obedient little critters.”

Something in her lilting voice makes him freeze mid-turn towards the door, fingers carefully loose against his sides as he stares at the mirror above the fireplace. His eyes look like they’re almost glowing in his face as he carefully says, “You sound like you speak out of experience.”

He can see Victoria slowly standing up behind him, shoulders straight and head held high as she stares at Kate, who looks in the reflection like a cat that ate the canary.

When she talks, her voice is as breathless as it had been when they were little and just about to open their Christmas presents.

“I’ve told you I have a surprise for you, Chris. It’s been in the making for _so long_. C’mon, I’ll show-”

There is a loud, piercing scream cutting her off. It is short and precise, breaking off as fast as it had come up - as if someone had cut the sound out with a sharp knife.

Immediately there is commotion in the house - doors flying open and hunters pouring out. Chris has his gun in hand and Victoria is already out of the room, running towards where Allison is sleeping.

One of their man bursts into the room, looking pale but determined. “There’s been an attack in the backyard! It has drug Harthorn out into the woods!”

Chris grits his teeth. He turns towards Kate but she is already running - though not in the direction of the backyard or the cars. What the… Nevermind. He can’t concentrate on her now.

He has to put groups together to hunt down whatever caught Harthorn.

.oOo.

_As the second man slowly pulls back and the third steps up, Peter doesn’t even bother to turn his face away from where it is smashed into the floor._

_Kate cocks her head, long leg stretching to nudge him into the shoulder with a boot._

_“Hey, Sweetheart. You alright?” she asks gently before hastily pulling her foot out of the way of his snapping teeth._

_“No. Bad boy,” she growls, fingers turning the dial and sending more electricity through the tight harness hugging Peter’s torso. His arms are jerking where they’re bound behind his back, body trembling and twisting but unable to get anywhere since the man behind him has a hand in the straps and keeps him close like a jittery horse even as he fucks into the wolf._

_“Fuck. That’s a ride,” he growls when the electricity causes Peter’s muscles to seize up, choked off, high whimpers of pain dribbling from the bulging throat._

_Kate keeps the electricity up for a little longer, then cuts it off again. Peter’s breath is wet, blood and drool trickling out of his open mouth onto the concrete._

_“Are you’re going to be a good puppy now? You’ve been wearing your special suit for so long. Doesn’t it get_ boring _without the use of your arms, Sweetheart?” She drops her voice in commiseration and leans down in her chair, trying to catch the gaze of his glassy eyes. “I know it hurts, baby boy. But it only hurts because you’re so stubborn.”_

_A trembling smile slowly stretches out on Peter’s lips. His features are warped into the form of his wolf shape since the electricity makes him unable to shift at his own will._

_“I will remind you of that,” he rasps, voice hoarse and wrecked, stuttering with every harsh thrust from behind that makes his breath hitch and his eyes flare before he clamps them shut, “...when I break every single,_ stubborn _bone in your body.”_

 _Kate flattens her mouth and leans back, watching in cold interest as Peter takes and takes and_ takes _with apparent stoicism… but she can see how he tries to curl in on himself. Tries to get away from the harsh treatment._

 _It is starting to_ wear _on him._

_.o._

_It takes long… so,_ so _long. But Kate will never forget the first time he crumbles. Will never forget when she comes to stand in front of him and tells him he has_ guests _._

_She will never forget how his whole body cringed away from the word and he dry heaved once before suddenly surging forward, pale face nuzzling into her boot, tongue snaking out to get dragged across the leather._

_“Oh Sweetheart,” she breathed and touched his filthy hair, thinking that she can_ finally _commence with the training._

.oOo.

Chris grits his teeth as he hears another low howl. The night has been full with them, sometimes louder, sometimes softer until he couldn’t tell anymore with how many wolves they were actually occupying the woods that night.

He keeps his crossbow at the ready, eyes sharp as he tries to make out threatening shapes between the slim trees around him. Every now and again he comes to a sudden halt only to realize the movement in his peripheral vision had been one of the other hunters.

When his earpiece comes to life with a soft crackling and Kate tells him, “Harthorn found. He’s dead.” he is not at all surprised.

“What killed him?”

“Still on it.”

He frowns, shoulders tightening once more from where they had momentarily relaxed. “Do you need backup?”

“Hmmm. No.”

“Give me your coordinates.”

.o.

She is at the road next to one of their SUVs when Chris gets there. The car is occupied with some of their men and Harthorn’s corpse is in the back, a plastic blanket neatly spread over him.

Chris watches Kate lean against the side of the car and stare into the darkness of the forest. Something is _off_. This is not how they’ve learned to hunt and he feels off kilter and out of the loop by how differently she’s handling things. Suddenly he wonders how much influence she has gained on their men while he wasn’t here to oversee how they do their hunting in Beacon Hills.

Suddenly he wonders a great many things.

He tries to buy time by peeking beneath the blanket, lips going tight at the sight of the mangled corpse. This definitely had been a creature of some sort - the fang and claw marks are too obvious in the flesh. There were also chunks of Harthorn missing.

“What was it?” he asks after a minute of tense silence.

“I don’t know yet,” she says and Chris feels his hackles rise. He has to put the crossbow back into the harness strapped over his shoulder so he wouldn’t do anything hot headed.

“What do you mean?! Why are we standing here when the beast is still out?”

Kate huffs and throws him a gaze full of impatient fondness. “ _Chris_. Would you just-”

Both of them whirl around at the loud cracking of leaves and dry wood coming from the forest, guns at the ready and cocked with deadly precision. Chris’ heart is thumping a steady, sure beat, adrenalin sharpening his senses as he stares to where the large shrub on the bottom of the trees was starting to tremble as if something big was worming its way through the thorny hedges.

Finally, out of the darkness breaks a large dog - no, wolf - in its maw the gnarled head of a transformed... “Wendigo,” Kate says, her hand calmly reaching out and curling around Chris’ gun. He fights for a second but in the end lets her push his arm down from where he had been training the mouth of the gun directly between the wolf’s ears.

He watches, taken aback as the wolf gets closer, large, grey head lowered in submissiveness as he sets his trophy down a couple meters in front of them. The creature would be inexplicably large if it didn’t cower down, tail clamped between its hind legs.

“So that’s our perpetrator,” Kate says, face pulling into a grimace as she kicks the head of the creature back to the side of the road.

“What is going on?” Chris says slowly. He takes a step back in surprise as the wolf’s head suddenly snaps up, wet nose glinting in the moonlight as it twitches, bloody mouth open to scent the air. His stomach clamps into a tight fist of trepidation when the creature starts to practically _wail_ \- a sound full of misery and confusion as the wolf crawls closer towards him.

Naturally as a hunter, his first instinct is to kick at the wild beast’s head, his eyes large and gun up once more as the wolf who just about manages to duck away from his foot.

“Kate! What...?!”

“Jesus,” Kate sighs, reaching down and fisting her hand into a collar around the wolf’s neck which Chris had not seen until that point. “Don’t be such a sissy, Chris. Calm the hell down.”

It is surreal to see Kate manhandle the big creature into the back of her SUV, her movements brisk and words even brisker as she orders it to get inside. When the wolf looks back at Chris, not moving quickly enough, she yanks at the collar.

“You can say hello later, Sweetheart,” she tells the wolf who finally crawls into the back, rolled up into a tight ball of bloody fur.

She sighs after she closed the door of the trunk, pushing her hair back and looking towards her brother. “We’ll talk at home, alright?”

Chris doesn’t answer her, eyes still fixed on the wolf next to the carcass until the door of the car trunk closes. He watches Kate get into the vehicle and feels sick to his stomach because he might not have all the pieces but he has enough to put them into a comprehensive picture.

He doesn’t know what is more frightening - the fact that Kate was willing and able to do something so horrifying to a person, or that it seemed that all their men knew of it and were absolutely okay with the situation, given that nobody had even bat an eyelash at sharing a car with an obvious werewolf.

He wishes he’d never come back to this cursed place.


	4. Chapter 4

_Peter has no idea how much time has gone by in this personal little hell of his but he knows it hasn’t been enough to make him forget anything. He sometimes wishes his mind had been burned out with his body, but alas… He still thinks about his pack almost constantly, the ache sitting prominent and gut wrenching right below his solar plexus. He feels their absence like a missing limb; hears their voices when nobody else is talking._

_Sometimes, they retreat in favor of Chris. Usually when he’s in that precious state between sleeping and waking, staring blearily at the dark ceiling. At first it had soothed him to imagine the hunter’s scent; to close his eyes and try to summon up the spicy mixture of musk and gun oil. However, time had eroded even that sanctuary._

_It’s when he just has found a position to lie on the bars of his cage, trying to remember the sound of Chris’ voice, when the small door gets wrenched open. It upsets him to realize that his senses have dulled so much; he didn’t even hear the hunter approaching._

_“Get out. Have you learned your lesson?”_

_He moves slowly, muscles screaming in protest, arms still weak from his time in the_ harness _. He cannot help it but yelp as the man reaches inside and fists the back of his new collar, dragging him outside of the small cage he’s been imprisoned in for… he has no idea._

_He gags at the tightness around his throat, coughing when the hunter finally lets go of the collar in favor of squatting down and seizing a fist full of his dirty hair._

_“Miss Argent doesn’t have time for you right now. You’ll have to make do with me.” He spoke slow and with careful pronunciation, eyes never leaving Peter’s even though he instinctively tried looking in other directions; shying away from the direct contact._

_“So? Did you learn how to be a good dog?”_

_Bile slowly rises up in his throat, burning and vile. He knows his eyes are flashing - can see the hesitation in the hunter’s gaze as he lets go of Peter’s hair in order to reach for the gun at his side._

_“Fuck you,” Peter growls. It is not the best comeback he’s ever had but at this point he is only running on fumes._

_The hunter frowns before he clicks his tongue in disappointment. The sound makes Peter cringe even before he sees the small apparatus in the gloved hand, body trained to react to the clicking sound in preparation of pain - which comes only moments later in form of electricity running like wildfire along his nerve endings._

_He has no idea what is happening; can only feel patient fingers sliding along his jaw in search of the pressure point which makes his sharp teeth fall open. Next something hard gets shoved into his mouth, the taste of metal exploding over his tongue as something smooth and warm covers the lower part of his face. Leather._

_A muzzle._

_“Dogs don’t talk,” the hunter lectures and pets surprisingly gentle fingers through his hair. “Your Mistress will come later. Probably. She won’t be happy with you.”_

_He clicks again with his tongue, and Peter hates it - hates the dark grin on the man’s face - but he whines and cringes away again, teeth hurting as he grinds them down against the metal bite in his mouth._

_.oOo._

Victoria has told him numerous times that he was too rash in his decision making - that he needed to cool down and assess the situation before he barreled into it guns a-blazing; which was why Chris, after parking in front of the house, sat there for a while, hands clamped around the steering wheel as he was staring into the night.

He flinches a little as the passenger door suddenly opened, arm already halfway to the knife strapped to his thigh until he recognized Victoria slipping calmly onto the seat.

He closed his eyes, tension draining from his body together with the gut wrenching sigh he let out.

“Oh Chris,” Victoria murmured and reached over to spear slim, sharply tipped fingers in his hair, gently scratching across his scalp. After a moment she pulled him over until his head was lying against her shoulder. “What happened?”

“It was a Wendigo,” he explained into the soft fabric of her blouse. He pulled the key to the engine off so the car interior was plunged into darkness. There might be nobody to be seen at the moment but the premise was occupied with hunters, so that didn’t have to mean anything - and he was not prepared to show weakness.

Victoria didn’t make a sound. She was sitting like a statue. Her hand, as he grasped it, was dry and cool. He let his thumb trail across the callus around the base of her forefinger where her ring blades frequently slipped over.

“They aren’t following the code, Vic. Not anymore. I don’t know when it happened but…”

“Shortly after you left Beacon Hills, I’d say.”

He sat up, eyes sharp on her though her face was mostly plunged in darkness - only the tip of her nose was illuminated lily white in the light of the moon.

“I’ve had my suspicions but obviously I’ve never seen them go actively against the code. Kate has a… large sway over them. I don’t know why-”

“She has a wolf. A werewolf. She’s _trained_ him-her… I-I don’t even know what it is.”

He pulled away in order to rub with both hands across his face as he let her digest the information.

“Well,” he could hear Victoria’s dark voice after a minute of tense silence. It was frosty and made his skin crawl. “That would explain it at least. They’ve always just looked for excuses to be more radical. For Kate to have actual proof that werewolves can be trained has probably come as a godsend.”

“What are we supposed to do?” he moaned defeated as he ground the balls of his hands into his eyes until they were burning just as the rest of his body.

“What we always do. Gather information.”

“I am supposed to join her…”

“Good. Do that. Find out what happened. Find out who the werewolf is. It has to be an Omega - they’d never be able to get their hands on a wolf with a pack. We also need to inform the rest of the hunters. This needs to be stopped.”

Chris drummed his fingers against his thighs for a second then nodded to himself slowly, resolutely.

“You’re right. What will you be doing?”

“I’ll be with Allison. I don’t trust anyone in that house anymore.”

They turned towards each other, faces drawn tight, determination evident in both pairs of clear, blue eyes. His hand shot out, curling around her neck to pull her close and press a rough, demanding kiss against her prettily painted mouth - smearing her lipstick slightly in the process.

“God, I love you,” he rasped low, voice shot with emotion that made Victoria smile mildly, her hand coming up to rub over the corner of his mouth where some of her lipstick had rubbed off on.

He rarely told Victoria how he felt and she virtually never answered - but her face was open and almost innocent looking for just a second which was enough to boost his spirits and get him to slip out of the car and towards the battlefield.

.oOo.

 _Victoria never closed her eyes during sex. They became heavy lidded and hot with lust or tight and watchful in ecstasy - but she never_ closed _them._

 _In the beginning he had found it intimidating and strange to be constantly watched; had barely been able to refrain from awkwardly asking whether he was doing anything_ wrong _\- whether she wasn’t enjoying herself. By now, after four years of marriage and with a little three year old lying in her room down the hall, he had come to find the quirk amusing._

 _Especially when she is nearing her orgasm and is still_ staring _at him with bright eyes that dare him to just_ do _it. To just give her that last little nudge that would allow her to shudder apart beneath him with a low, catty groan that would bring that smug, little grin to his face she always teases him about._

_He hisses as her sharp fingernails claw down his back, leaving behind stripes of fire that have his hips stutter mid-thrust, head falling down loose between his shoulders as he suddenly has to scramble not to come himself._

_“Fuck,” he groans, biceps shaking and cock flexing where it has fit itself snug inside her squeezing walls._

_He chuckles at the sharp grin she sends his way, leaning down to bite a kiss into her mouth as she slings one leg around his hip and forces him deeper, selfishly chasing after her own gratification. Using him like a toy she knows like the back of her hand. His breath catches every fucking time she does it, heat pooling at the small of his back and toes curling._

_Her eyelids flutter as she wriggles her hips, sharp eyebrows drawing together in concentration. Chris grinds his teeth, fingers digging into the pillow next to her head before he twists his hands and shoves his calloused fingers deep into her short hair, holding on tight as he waits for her to find the position she likes._

_She turns her head into the pull, teeth grinding at the slight pain. He sighs as she finally stops digging her sharp fingernails into his back and instead slowly raises her arms over her head, slim body stretching sinuously beneath his._

_She twists her hips in a languid roll and suddenly he can feel his swollen cockhead pressing against something inside her and her mouth opens on a soundless moan, eyes going wide in an expression of pure wonder and excitement that has him pant with eagerness._

_Chris moves before she can start to chant a soft litany of ‘there! there! go, damn it, Chris!’, hips snapping, driving forwards again and again to hammer deep into her clutching cunt, teeth bared as one of her hands flies down to almost viciously rub against her clit, thumb simultaneously digging into the softness of her lower belly._

_He can hear each small breath leaving her slack mouth every time he pushes in deep, thrilling at how her free arm is shivering with the strain of bracing her against the headboard. Chris will_ never _tire from pulling pleasure out of this woman who is very well capable of breaking his neck in five seconds flat._

_When Victoria finally comes, she does it just as silently and just as open-eyed as everything else. Her hand flies down from the headboard, fingers digging sharp and painful into Chris’ ass, causing him to still deep inside as her cunt squeezes tighter and tighter around his cock, the fingers on her clit still flying and her hips undulating against him as she rides his cock through her orgasm, holds him right where she needs him to until his vision goes almost white._

_His balls feel hot and too tight as she finally comes down, gingerly letting go of his ass to pet him, leg unhooking from his hip to let him pull out._

_She sighs as his swollen head leaves her with a wet sound, eyes heavy lidded in contentment and arms open wide for him so he can lie down inside them._

_After such a long time, it is only too easy to slide into position - to feel her soft breasts pressed against his back as she reaches around him, clever fingers dancing tantalizingly over his thick cock, smearing her own juice across the flexing length._

_He groans deep in his chest, head falling back against her shoulder because he can’t watch her play with his foreskin - shove it back and forth across his bright red head - without coming in thick, desperate ropes across his own belly._

_“Tell me about him,” she whispers, voice even deeper with her own satisfaction, almost sleepy as she nuzzles against his rough cheek. “Tell me how beautiful he was.”_

_And it is probably sick. Sick to get Peter into their bedroom, when he’s been dead for so long; when Victoria hadn’t even known him. But he_ wants _her to know him. Wants her to know how breathtaking the wolf was. How…_

 _“He was such a snotty, little brat,” he rasps, voice shot with both lust and sadness, his fingers curling around her slim wrist, loosely holding on as she starts to jack him off slow and tight. “Always had to have the last word. Fucking_ infuriating _puppy with all his book knowledge and teasing grins…”_

_“Did he have a beautiful mouth?” Victoria asks because she never can get enough. She can never get enough of listening to Chris’ voice get gravelly with need and adoration - or how his cock spurts a small stream of pre-cum when he only thinks about it._

_“God, yes. So beautiful… so_ plush _. Made for sucking cock…”_

_“Was he any good?”_

_His hips jerk up into her grip, a soft cry loosening itself from his throat. It has Vic raise her free hand and clasp it across his mouth, thumb rubbing at the corner as she chuckles, “Slow down, Chris. You’ll wake her.”_

_He closes his eyes tight, breathing heavily through his nose as he listens to the slick noises of Victoria jerking him, heels digging into the mattress as he fucks up into her slippery grip._

_No, he wants to say, no, Peter hadn’t been any good. He’d been too sloppy and had gagged so often because he’d been a stubborn asshole as usual and didn’t want to take it slow, and there hadn’t been enough time for Chris to teach him; to slow him down and show him how to enjoy the act until the last second…_

_But in the end it didn’t even matter because Peter had been so fucking_ eager _. All moaning and filthy slurping sounds as his big, blue eyes owlishly blinked up at Chris, trying to gauge his reaction._

_As if his reaction could be anything other than coming his brains out when presented with that red, fuckable mouth stretched obscenely over his plunging cock._

_Even now, when he’s dead and doesn’t have a proper grave, Peter manages to drive him insane with need. He cries out into Victoria’s hand, hears her soft shushing at his ear as his whole body tenses and trembles with each spurt of cum, Peter’s derisive laugh dancing around them before it vanishes like the ghost it was._


	5. Chapter 5

Talking to Victoria has helped him calm down. He feels grounded as he walks up to the house and doesn’t have to search for her eyes in a bid for an encouraging nod as he waits at the door, holding it open for her to slip inside.

It is probably for the best because she doesn’t pay any attention to him - just climbs the stairs towards their little girl, getting ready for however the night is about to end.

He is not surprised to find Kate in the sitting room. He can see her profile in the flickering lights of the flames as she is hunched over the slightest bit, head tilted towards the warmth while her hand is curled tightly around the glass of dark liquor she’s poured herself, resting on the sill of the fireplace.

He can see the flicker of her eyes in his direction but keeps standing for a little while longer, still.

When he finally talks, his voice is pitched low, almost a whisper in this house full of hunters. “What have you done with his body?”

“He’s still in the car. We’ll bury him first thing tomorrow morning.”

“What will you tell his family?”

“Didn’t have any.”

Chris watches her take a small sip of whatever is in her glass and slowly starts coming closer.

“What happened to us, Kate?” he asks at last. The words feel clunky in his mouth and the mocking glare she shoots him hurts more than he is prepared to admit, but they’ve been quiet for so long - maybe it is time to finally talk about the chasm between them. If it isn’t too late.

Kate’s face softens after a tense second or two, eyes sliding back towards the flickering flames.

“Nothing happened to us. We’ve always been this way, Chris. We never got along above the barest necessities because we don’t understand each other. You know that, don’t you?”

And yes, of course he does. But it’s also not easy to admit that they’ve just failed as a family.

“Are all of them…” he halts and reconsiders his words, watching her intently as he says, “Do they all share your views?”

Finally, Kate looks away from the fire and towards him. There is no lilting grin on her face like usual. For once, she is utterly solemn.

“Yes, Chris. They’ve seen what can be done. _You_ ’ve seen what can be done. We had to do nothing. My group wasn’t in danger even for a second. We sent him out and he came back - mission accomplished.”

He bristles, agitation rising in him like a tidal wave he can barely manage to press down.

“He is a person, Kate! Where did you get him from? You’ve robbed him off a pack. Of his family. You can’t imprison an innocent just because he happens to be a werewolf. Are you _nuts_?”

“And are you _blind_?!” she shoots back viciously, “Why are you so fucking hellbent on giving those monsters an out? You have _seen_ what they can do! You’ve seen it even better than I because _you’ve_ been allowed on hunts when _I_ had to twiddle my thumbs and wait. You know how rabid they can get. How violent. If we don’t do anything, they’ll just spread out - like that damn Hale pack.” She presses her lips together for a second and spits more controlled but still angry, “They were so _many_. They’ve sprouted up like weed in the undergrowth. It’s disgusting.”

She turns towards the fireplace again, face twisted into a mask of resentment and loathing. “If we don’t control the monsters, they will crop up everywhere. They will take us over and swallow us completely. They need to make amends for what they did to humanity for centuries and they need to be burned to the ground so something like it… like _them_... can never happen again. Abominations.” She turns her head infinitesimally, eying her pale, stunned looking brother. “They need to _burn_ , Chris. Like the Hales.”

He feels like floating; like someone stuffed cotton in his ears and had held him upside-down for some time because his fingers are prickling with the needles and his head is pounding as the feeling of trepidation swamps him and makes it hard to breathe.

“What did you do, Kate?” he can hear himself say - slur, really because his tongue feels heavy and foreign in his mouth. “What did you _do_?”

She looks pityingly at him and shakes her head softly, straightening and offering him her glass of liquor. “What had to be done, Chris. Here. Take it. You look like you need it for where we’re going.”

Indeed he does accept it. The round, hard edges of the glass and the coldness of the condensation around it makes it easier to ground himself once more; to get life back into his body as he follows Kate through the quiet house and up some stairs. The hallway they wander down is barely illuminated. However, she doesn’t switch on the light and he is almost grateful for it.

He doesn’t want to see her face right now.

It is unexpected when she starts talking again and Chris hates how casual she sounds. How inhuman. “They need to be dominated. Rational thought doesn’t suit them well and I’ve found that their sense of smell is the most reliable way to drive home to whom they belong to. Who is in charge.”

She comes to a halt in front of the last door and Chris can feel his fingers start to tremble with the force of his grip around the glass.

“Why are you telling me this?”

She raises her hand to shush him and cocks her head to the side as if listening. For what, he isn’t sure. Only seconds later, the door suddenly swings open and one of the men from earlier - those in the SUV - stumbles out. He almost crashes into Kate since his focus is on pulling his pants on the rest of the way and zipping them up.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles, shoving one hand through his dishevelled hair, then rubs it across his pale, exhausted face. Chris watches as the man smiles lopsidedly at Kate and tells her “He’s been restless tonight.”

“I know. It was a bit… exciting for him. Was he any trouble?”

“Naw. Could handle him.”

He nods towards Chris and doesn’t wait for the other man to react as he slowly makes his way past them.

Later, Chris thinks he had known what would greet him upon entering the room. On some level, he had known.

It didn’t make it any easier though - stepping into one of the guest rooms reeking of sex and watching the man on the bed. He is still upright at least - kneeling on the mattress with his muscled back to them.

His head is hanging low and defeated between arms that are stretched out towards the headboard and bound to it with zipties.

Chris can see a glimpse of the wolf’s collar around his neck and, more clearly, other bindings that are looped around biceps and thighs as well as wrists and ankles. It would look simply kinky if it didn’t give off such an overwhelming vibe of _bad_ and _wrong_.

And then Kate is softly clicking her tongue and the whole, powerful body on the bed jerks to attention even before she calls a gentle “Sweetheart!”. The wolf’s head comes up and turns around with difficulty, peeking over the swell of his shoulder… and the glass falls out of Chris’ numb hand to bounce off of the thick carpet with a dull thud. The dark contents spill out, immediately soaking into the fabric.

“Peter?” he says, voice cracking something awful, wobbling during those two syllables in a way he hadn’t thought possible. He hadn’t seen the man in seven years. Seven long, agonizing years - but those blue eyes. That jaw… Peter had grown up, filled out.

Broken down.

“So you remember him? I found him after the fire,” Kate says, watching as the wolf starts squirming on the bed, twisting this way and that without really trying to break free because when it came down to it, zipties wouldn’t be enough to hold a werewolf. Pure terror, on the other hand, would do the trick nicely.

Chris listens to the low noises of distress, the way the thick neck bulges as Peter grinds his teeth together, watches as blue eyes - the blue eyes he’s never been able to let go - jerk towards the two hunters again and again, slipping across Chris and skittering away without really sticking.

He has to be dreaming. He has to…

It is like his brain jumpstarts, vision snapping back into focus from where it had gone fuzzy, knees straightening once more after he needed to hold on to the doorframe for a second so he wouldn’t tumble to the floor that had tilted so viciously beneath him.

“You found him?” he says slowly, mechanically, head swivelling to stare at his sister, “You… found him after the fire?”

She barely gets to nod before Chris is on her, his own cry of outrage ringing in his ears.

.oOo.

_He is absorbed in the pictures on the screen even though he would have been able to recite every little detail with his eyes closed. The morning sun is shining warm against his back and the house is absolutely quiet._

_Victoria had gone shopping with Allison some time ago and-_

_Chris flinches as there suddenly is a touch on his thigh. Only the fact that he can see Allison’s dark hair in the corner of his eye is saving him from something he’d truly regret later. He groans and flops back in his chair._

_“Allison! I thought you were gone with your mother?!”_

_“I changed my mind. Mom told you, too,” she says, trying to get a better look at what was happening on the desk. Now that she said it, Chris remembers Victoria calling something along those lines before the door had closed. He raises one hand and rubs across his face, grunting in surprise as Allison starts pulling herself up on his lap._

_“Dad? What are you doing?”_

_“Nothing much. Working, mostly,” he tells her, fingers playing with the long, dark locks of hair._

_“Are you looking at the fire again?” she says as she looks critically at the black and white pictures on the laptop. It makes him pause in the middle of braiding her hair, one thick strand sliding out of his lax fingers as he gapes at the back of her head._

_“What? I mean… How do you know...?”_

_She shrugs her slender shoulders and wriggles back to sit better, small hands smoothing her skirt down as she waits primly for him to continue styling her hair._

_“You always watch them for hours when you don’t have anything else to do.”_

_He slowly starts to move again, feeling like a rusty automaton as he braids carefully, thoughts perpetually circling around the one thought._

_What does it say about him when his five year old knows about a fire that happened before she was even born? How obsessed did he have to be for Allison to know exactly when he was prone to staring at the pictures?_

_“Say,” he rasps with a low voice he hopes sounds more normal than it feels coming out, “how about we get ready and pick your mother up from wherever she is, and… go to the park?”_

_Allison turns around, small, pretty face screwed up in intense concentration as she looks her father’s face over for a second or two. In the end, she beams, because Allison is a_ happy _child and Chris has no fucking idea how he managed to do that (he thinks it’s more Victoria’s deed), and nods enthusiastically._

 _So he lets the pictures of a destroyed past life behind for one afternoon and tries very hard to feel at home in the new -_ good _\- life he’s made himself._

_Surprisingly enough, he succeeds._

_.oOo._

Kate is eerily quiet below him, not even batting an eyelash as he digs the mouth of his gun below her jaw, the bulk of his body grinding her into the wall of the bedroom.

“What is it, Chris? Cat got your tongue?” she says after he only manages broken sounds of anger for the longest time, breathing raggedly into her ear.

“You… you…” He doesn’t even… What is he _supposed_ to say? What is one supposed to say when a sibling suddenly seems so alien, so _disgusting_ and _revolting_ that you only want to end their miserable existence?

“I?” she mocks though the amusement quickly drains from her face when he presses the metal deeper into the soft flesh until she winces. “I wanted Derek, to be honest. But _he_ was the one crawling out of the burning next, so I took him. Just because he was _there_.  I’ve even wanted you to have part in his training, Chris. I’ve _always_ wanted you to come back. Wanted to show you my surprise. But you’ve skittered away like a frightened squirrel, hiding in LA with your little family while _I_ got things done around here.”

He can feel bile rise in the back of his throat, and has to adjust his grip on the gun because his hands sweat like he’s having a fever. Behind them, Peter is still making _noise_. An almost sub-vocal whine that tears through Chris like a knife.

“What did you do to him?” he breathes, the hand around Kate’s neck tightening until she is squinting in pain and clawing at the wall.

“I trained him, Chris! Fuck! Don’t you _listen?_ I told you everything. Every, fucking little thing. I broke him down, pried him open, built him new. He’s obedient. He’ll do everything I tell him to.” Her voice darkens, teeth bared in a growl. “He’ll even kill you if I say the word.”

“But you won’t.”

Chris turns his head and looks at Victoria. She is standing in the doorway with Allison on her hip, one hand pressing the girl’s head against her shoulder so she wouldn’t look inside the room. Her face is controlled and cool, eyes only needing to flick to an empty spot at her side in order for her husband to slowly step back and pull his gun away.

Kate slowly rubs across her jaw where a dark bruise already starts appearing below her pale skin. The women appraise each other across the distance and Chris thinks that Kate is lucky Victoria’s arms are full with their child.

“I won’t?” Kate says slowly, an incredulous smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “How come?”

Victoria smiles slow in the reptilian way that never fails to make Chris feel cold to the very core. The hand placed beneath Allison squeezes the girl’s thigh almost imperceptibly.

“Aunt Kate?” Allison’s wobbling voice worms its way into the air. It is surprising how fast Kate’s face can fall. It’s like she hadn’t even registered her niece until now. “What is happening? What is that sound, it’s scary.”

Chris watches his daughter, the way her arms are loosely looped around her mother’s neck. Relaxed. Not afraid.

Kate, on her part, looks upset, gaze flicking towards where the werewolf is still writhing against his bonds, thighs crusted with cum shaking as he whimpers like a hurt animal.

“Quiet,” she hisses. It takes until she snaps with her fingers, though, that Peter suddenly subsides, the noise cutting off abruptly.

“Nothing, baby girl,” she croaks, shaking hand reaching out to awkwardly pat Allison’s back. “Why are you still awake?”

“Because we’re going,” Victoria explains patiently, a bland smile pasted on her face as she slowly lets Allison down on the ground, her hand lying secure on the girl’s head to press her face against her hip.

“You’re going?” Kate echoes dumbly, eyes still fixed on her niece. Chris would have never thought that his daughter would be Kate’s weak spot… but he also would never have entertained the idea because he’s quite sure Victoria would have neutered him.

“Yes. Tonight. And we’re taking him with us.”

She nods towards Peter, and Chris doesn’t know whether to be pathetically thankful or _protest_. He doesn’t know what to… He doesn’t know what to _think!_ He had never thought it possible to get Peter _back_. He’s been going through his life for seven years, thinking his wolf was dead. And now he has a family to think about. Has _Allison_ to think about when it comes to an unhinged man he is no longer familiar with. An unhinged _wolf_.

Kate’s eyes get sharp once more, zeroing in on Victoria. Her chest expands with the deep breath she takes, readying herself to protest, but then… just… doesn’t.

She looks towards the bed, her face a blank mask of calculation before a slow smirk stretches her mouth in a way that doesn’t look amused at all.

“Whatever. You can have him. I’ve reached my goal and got the Callaveras and Montellos on my side. They’re all I’ve ever needed, really… but maybe you realize your mistake after all when you just spent enough time with him. He’s so very obedient now… and I would _love_ to welcome you back, Chris.” She looks earnest, too. Something needy and vulnerable entering her face that would have made him stop and reconsider just an hour ago - but was now sending shivers of trepidation down his back.

“It was never really about him in particular. Every wolf would have done… and I wouldn’t have thought of trying so hard to get you to join, but…” She get’s a mildly bewildered expression on her face, eyes sliding towards the wolf on the bed. “He’s been _asking_ for you for the longest time. He’s stopped talking about his pack eventually, but _you,_ for some reason, he clung to. Until it dawned on me that maybe your affiliation with the Hale pack wasn’t so casual? Was it like that, Chris? Hmmm?”

Chris jerks forward, throat tight with the sudden, overwhelming _hate_ he feels for her and those other hunters. How much they _disgust_ him.

Victoria’s arm shooting out and slamming against his chest is the only thing that holds him back.

Kate laughs in his face even though her eyes are cold and assessing. She squats down and strokes a gentle finger across Allison’s cheek, whispers, “Until next time, baby girl. We’re still best friends, right?”

“Of course!” Allison looks scandalized as she squirms around until she can look at her aunt’s face. Kate beams and leans forward, intent on kissing her on the forehead - Victoria, on her part, calmly pulls her child behind her legs and out of reach.

The muscles in Kate’s jaw tighten. For a moment she looks actually, truly upset, but the emotion is quickly buried beneath her usual snark and crooked grin.

“Be a good boy now, Sweetheart!” she calls over their heads towards Peter, “You’re gonna have a nice time, I’m sure.”

After she is gone, Chris just feels… empty.


	6. Chapter 6

He is useless and he knows it. He can’t look at Peter, just stares at the floor until Victoria tells him to look for something to cover the wolf with.

Peter is still eerily silent and frozen into position. I would have looked like a statue if it weren’t for the fluttering of his pulse at the base of his neck and his ragged panting through slightly opened lips.

Allison has to stand outside the room and tell them if someone comes as her parents rummage around inside. Chris finds a pair of jeans with the button ripped off on the floor on the other side of the bed and Victoria procures one of her knifes to snap open the zipties binding the wolf to the headboard.

Peter still doesn’t _move_ , though. He looks shell-shocked for the most part - muscles quivering as he wordlessly takes the pants Victoria shoves brusquely against his chest. He is sticky with various liquids, face still smeared in the blood of the Wendigo, and he needs a shower badly but he also needs to get _out of here_.

Thankfully, he is meek and, as loath as both of them are to describe it that way, obedient.

“Can you drive?” Victoria asks her husband, eying his pale face and the way he sways slightly on the spot. He takes a deep breath and steels himself before he nods slowly. His eyes are drifting again and again towards Peter who barely stands upright. The wolf is still shifted and looks like he wants to cower down or crawl into a corner.

Chris tries to come to terms with the fact that _his_ Peter is somehow this pitiful creature with no success.

They seemed like two different persons; the Peter that had offered him a dead rabbit in a clumsy attempt at courtship, and that never failed to call him a ‘damned idiot’ every opportunity he got against this Peter with wild hair and even wilder eyes. The Peter that shies away from every movement they make in his direction.

They expect him to bolt as soon as they step outside - but he doesn’t. He stays, surprisingly enough, so close behind them that Allison who is draped over her father’s shoulder, eventually whispers softly, “He stinks.”

They don’t even debate where to put him. Victoria only quietly opens the door of their car’s trunk and gestures with one hand. Peter looks almost _relieved_ when he obediently crawls inside, immediately curling into a tight ball, ripping at his own hair with fingers that end in sharp claws.

It looks like a depressingly familiar position for him.

Chris wants to touch. He wants to touch and pinch the other’s flesh and make sure he isn’t dreaming - or, more accurately, having a nightmare.

He sure as hell never thought getting Peter back would be like this.

He doesn’t realize his hand is extended until Victoria intercepts it and waits for him to look at her.

“Don’t. He’s close to a break down and seems feral. He could bite or fight if you keep overwhelming him unnecessarily. Just… don’t.”

He hesitates but nods eventually, hand falling down at his side. He feels horrible when she softly closes the trunk door.

They’re soon on the road, and Allison waits almost five minutes until she meekly asks from the back seat, “Why is that man in the trunk, mommy?”

Victoria is silent for a heartbeat or two, her face drawn tight and pale as Chris glances over. “He doesn’t feel well. Why don’t you try to sleep, honey. It’s a while until the next motel.”

“... I feel bad, too, mommy. Really bad.”

Chris wants to bang his head against the steering wheel and curl up like Peter had.

.oOo.

Victoria watches Chris and Allison for a second as they walk towards the bureau with the reception desk. Chris’ shoulders are slumped in a way that troubles her but they straighten as soon as Allison tugs on his arm and says something.

She smiles tiredly as she sees her husband nod and bend down to pick their six year old up, then she gets into gear herself.

There are bags on the back seat where she had packed not hastily but with great speed and just shoved them into the car before she had gone to search for Chris and found him pressing a gun to his sister’s throat.

The neighbourhood they’re in isn’t that well off and chances are the car will be broken in somewhere in the few scant few hours between now and sunrise but that is one of their least worries right now.

She reaches for the door of the trunk and frowns as she realizes her hands are shaking. She takes a deep breath and reaches towards the small of her back with one hand, fingers curling around the handle of one of her knifes as she cautiously opens the trunk with the other hand and flings the door open as softly as possible.

She is steeled for an attack, ducking down and prepared to roll out of the way of claws - but the man in there doesn’t lunge for her. He’s still curled together into a tight ball - but he’s also not totally unaware of his surroundings. Victoria can see the cautious, steady gaze directed at her out of startlingly blue eyes.

The wolf might be broken - but he was not _dumb_. There was still a mind in there; weary and beaten down as it might be.

She looks around cautiously, checking their surroundings before she steps to the side and motions sharply with one hand. “Out.”

She hadn’t been expecting the immediate action this would get. The powerful body moves, slipping out of the trunk like water. He comes to a crouch beside her, curled in on himself and looking like he would like nothing more than to crawl beneath the car and die. She can’t fault himself for that.

“As long as you are cooperative,” she says slowly, wondering if he can even understand the words, “we won’t hurt you. You are safe with us.” She almost winces at her own words and tries at least for a semblance of friendliness as she concludes with a soft, “...Peter.”

He doesn’t really react beyond those freakishly intelligent eyes flicking cautiously up to stare at her, but she can see the muscles in his back slowly loosen and that is probably as good as she will get.

She looks towards the bureau and feels calmer as she sees Chris walk out with Allison on his hips, their girl jangling the keys to their rooms in her small hand.

It is in that second that she totally forgets about the wolf at her side, so when there is a soft nudge at her hand, several half-formed thoughts tumble through her head; first of all, _I shouldn’t have-_

She abruptly turns, her favorite knife in hand even before she consciously thought about it.

Peter, whose neck had been stretched cautiously towards her, immediately recoils.

She curses beneath her breath as she realizes he had just been butting against her hand with his head.

“It’s been too long of a night,” she whispers wearily and slips the knife back where it had come from.

“Vic? Everything alright?”

She faces Chris with a tired lift of the corners of her mouth, nodding at him and gesturing towards Peter.

“I’ve just been too jumpy. You got the room?”

He nods but he’s distracted; his gaze seems to be glued to the wolf on the ground and Victoria wonders what is going through his mind at the moment. He’s been obsessed with this very man next to her for so long - for longer than they’ve known each other; and yet, Peter doesn’t react at all to him.

She doesn’t know what to make of it.

“I’m hungry,” Allison suddenly pipes up, face mashed against her father’s neck.

“You should get us something to eat,” Victoria concedes while Chris lets their daughter down on the ground. There is slight movement next to her and Victoria turns to watch as Peter uncurls a little in order to watch the child.

“Are you sure?” Chris’ voice pulls her focus back on him. She nods, grabbing for Allison’s hand and subtly guiding her so she is at least shielded by her mother’s legs.

“Yes. We’ll be fine.”

“Mommy? Can I get on your arms?”

“No, honey. I’m sorry. But it’s not that far anymore.”

She needs her hands free in case Peter attacks.

.oOo.

Victoria is not prepared for the outbreak when she ushers Peter into the tiny bathroom of the run-down motel room and tells him to shower.

Her words are brusque and short but not mean, thoughts occupied with Allison sitting on one of the two beds and with her husband trying to organize food at three in the morning and being haunted by old ghosts.

Peter had been well behaved and shy around her - skittering away as soon as she made a movement towards him but never staying too far.

So it came as a surprise to suddenly see the man flinch and hear him whine brokenly just seconds before he presses himself against her, face buried in her lower stomach and fingers plucking softly at her pants.

“P...Peter?” she stutters - and she hasn’t stuttered in _years_ \- “Peter what is it? Are you hurt? What is wrong?”

The wolf is howling into her stomach, shoulders shaking and Victoria is _helpless_. She has no idea what triggered this sudden breakdown and she doesn’t know what to _do_. Not when she very gingerly reaches for his shoulder with one hand and for her knife with the other - and sees him flinch and recoil the second the pads of her fingers touch his skin.

His arms are held up in defense, clawed fingers curled into his palms, surprisingly enough. She wonders how long it had taken Kate to re-train the natural instincts of a wolf.

“Okay… okay,” she says slowly, making a show out of taking her hand away from her weapon and holding her empty hands out to him. He watches everything anxiously. “I’m not mad, Peter. I did not want to startle you. What are you afraid of?”

He doesn’t answer; his intelligent eyes are weary as they slip from her towards the small shower cubicle and back to her again. He seems apprehensive about it and she has no idea whether it’s the small enclosure of the shower or the thought of water.

Or maybe it was just _her_ in general. His reactions were dubious at best.

“You need to get clean,” she says at last, her voice low as she intently watches him - and gets watched back in return. “I don’t even need to touch you. I can go outside and-”

The shifted, still blood smeared face falls and he crawls closer again, head cocked and inquiring whines slipping out of his throat. When she reaches for him, though - slowly this time with both hands visible - he shies away again.

It is frustrating just as much as it is enlightening.

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath and straightens up, “Okay. Take off your jeans and get into the shower. I will check on Allison and will come back in a second.” Her voice softens a bit from the brisk order, “Can you do that for me, Peter?”

Victoria feels like she’s made a huge break-through right there as Peter stretches out and gingerly nudges her hand with his bloody cheek, then starts wriggling out of his pants while cautiously watching her.

.o.

Checking on Allison only takes a few seconds. The girl has slipped off her shoes and is lying on one of the beds. It looks like she’s been jumping on it until she got bored or dizzy and she blinks sleepily at her mother when Victoria gently pushes a few dark locks out of her face.

“‘M hungryyyy,” she whines. Victoria frowns, the corners of her mouths tightening until the petulance slips from Allison’s face and is replaced with pouting. Her mother sighs and nods.

“I know, honey. Your father will be here in a few minutes.”

She stands up but gets halted by Allison’s hesitant voice. “What’s with the man’s face, mommy?”

She bites her lip since her daughter can’t see it and lets out a long, silent breath before she answers over her shoulder, “It’s his face, honey. Everyone looks different.”

She doesn’t need to see Allison to know her small face is crumpled in confusion and she’s getting ready to ask more, so Victoria does something she hasn’t done just as long as she hasn’t been stuttering - she flees.

.o.

It is easier and harder to interact with Peter now that she has an idea of what the wolf needs.

It is the easiest thing to sit on the closed toilet lid and just watch him soap himself while giving him the occasional encouragement - but it is also so, so hard because softness doesn’t come easy to her. She has to make a mental effort to keep her voice low and soothing.

It takes a couple minutes until she realizes the room isn’t warming and there is no steam accumulating. She debates with herself for a moment, finger tapping restlessly against her knee until she says offhandedly, “You can use warm water, Peter.”

Her stomach clenches at the dubious gaze he shoots her. She keeps her thoughts off her face as she nods encouragingly. “You can use as much as you want. I want you to.”

Peter keeps watching her intently, every movement looking like he was almost challenging her to say something; to take the privilege away again. When nothing happens beyond her raising her eyebrows at him, he seems to cautiously stretch out under the pathetic stream of water. His spine stretches out under her eyes, shoulders relaxing from their tight clench around his ears. It makes it hard not to let her eyes wander - not to take in the very body Chris had been describing to her for years.

It seems wrong to notice it; especially when the wolf softly whines as he reaches back and slips soaped up fingers down the cleft of his ass - but even as she shushes him softly, tells him it will be alright; even as the wolf sends her an almost shyly hopeful gaze, Victoria can see how _beautiful_ he is.

How sweetly obedient.

She almost sighs in relief as she hears Chris call from outside, giving her an excuse to leave the bathroom - with a promise to come back as she notices the panic on the wolf’s face.

.o.

She almost trips over their luggage as she steps out of the bathroom. Chris shoots her an apologetic gaze as he pushes in another bag through the door but she doesn’t even care because he’s managed to somehow get all of their stuff out of the car and up into their room.

“Food?” she asks and takes the large plastic bag he hands her. It is filled with gas station sandwiches but it is better than nothing and Allison won’t care as long as it has meat on it.

“How is…” He trails off awkwardly, head cocked to the side as he peeks in through the open bathroom door.

“I got him to shower,” she explains unnecessarily, pulling the door shut behind him and starting to go through their stuff. “He doesn’t want to be touched. And you need to speak softly, but other than that-”

“I don’t think that the same will apply to me, I mean… he didn’t even _look_ at me, Vic, I…”

Her head snaps up in alarm, eyes wide and mouth opening in a soft ‘o’ of surprise as she hears his voice break like glass. Chris might be a man with many issues and sorrows but she had never heard him so close to flat-out bawling.

His face is a mask of agony as he stares through the door, unaware of both his wife and daughter watching him.

“Chris. _Chris_. Look at me.” She stands up and steps towards him. His perpetual stubble tickles her palms as she cups his face and drags it around until he is forced to look at her. “He’s been tortured for over seven years,” she whispers so their girl wouldn’t hear and rubs her thumbs slowly across his cheekbones. “He probably hasn’t even realized yet that he’s out of there. How often, do you think, has he dreamed of exactly this happening? Give him time, Chris. Give _yourself_ time. This night has been too long. Just… just take it slow.”

He looks unsure and as unhappy as she feels but when she finally steps back and tells him to “Go inside and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. I’m getting something for him to wear,” he goes without arguing, his shoulders a little straighter than before.


	7. Chapter 7

Peter is no longer showering when Chris steps inside. He is still dripping wet, of course, and eying the hard looking towels on the rack next to the sink - but he doesn’t step a toe out of the shower cubicle.

The wolf’s gaze snaps towards Chris as soon as the hunter steps inside and he feels the breath rush out of him in a long, explosive _whoosh_ at suddenly - _finally_ \- being on the receiving end of those painfully familiar blue eyes.

“Hello, Peter,” he says awkwardly, cautiously, Victoria’s words still prominent in his mind. What was one supposed to say in a situation like this? His stomach curls in on itself and his gaze sweeps down the powerful body, taking in quivering muscles and locked joints - ready for fight or flight; and the urge to _touch_ is suddenly so overwhelming that he has to consciously keep his limbs still. “How are y-”

He doesn’t get to finish the question before Peter’s gaze bounces away, the shifted face blank as if he wasn’t there at all. As if the wolf had seen _through_ him instead of _at_ him. Chris’ heart drops and he swallows tightly.

“You look cold,” he says softly in a valiant effort to get through whatever hangup Peter had, making his way over to the towels and trying to find one that didn’t seem likely to scrape skin off with its stiffness. Gazing over to Peter, the wolf was still stubbornly looking into another corner, clawed fingers moving restlessly at his thighs.

“Just wait a moment,” Chris continues, a frown appearing on his face as he keeps cautiously watching Peter. “I’ll get you one. I know you don’t like fabric that doesn’t smell like pack, but…” The pointed ear twitches slightly and Chris feels more elated and confused than ever. Peter obviously _could_ hear him - but elected to ignore him.

The question was… why?

.oOo.

_He was curled into a tight ball, arms curled where they were pressing against his stomach in a futile effort to make the cramps stop. The spasms had started up after almost two days of not being given anything to eat and his head pounds with dehydration._

_At this point he doesn’t even remember what he did wrong - what had made Kate try to starve him to death in an effort to make him learn and Peter feels sick when he realizes he’s panicking; panicking that he won’t be able to prevent further disobedience when he can’t remember his failings._

_He’s whining and turning his head into the rough concrete, tongue sneaking out to drag slowly across the damp stones, taking moss and dirt away. He chokes at first; rolls onto all fours and dry heaves a couple times until he can get himself back under control._

_After that, Peter starts licking the floor with more purpose._

_The rough drag of his tongue against stone is the only sound in his jail for the longest time - which is, why he flinches as he hears_ his _voice._

_“Peter.” It is the same purr he remembers from their last time together. The dark voice of a young man that promised to slip even deeper in upcoming years. It drags along his spine like a single finger, gently scraping his skin until it raises into goosebumps._

_“Peter, come here.”_

_He turns around only too obedient, eyes heavy lidded and mouth slack as he sees Chris standing there. He is tall - had always been taller than Peter - and he is standing against the light in a way that makes it hard to see his face; but his eyes - those startlingly blue hunter eyes - are glowing at him. Cool and calculated._

_He crawls over, his cramping stomach forgotten as he butts his face against Chris’ thighs in greeting. Somewhere, Peter thinks this isn’t the right way to greet the young man. Not after what they’ve been through. His muscles, however, are locked against him standing up, trained to a degree where he’s just growling happily as Chris reaches down and cups his chin, unable to even articulate himself properly._

_He wants to sigh “Christopher” but instead he just turns and nuzzles eagerly into the palm, breathing in deeply the familiar scent that clings so similarly to Kate’s skin that his heart is fluttering unhealthily in his chest._

_It makes him feel lightheaded and nauseated because this is_ Christopher _and he should be happy but…_

_...something seemed off._

_“Good boy,” Chris hums and it goes straight to Peter’s core, a pathetic whine of happiness spilling from his throat. Chris’ hands are large and rough as they slide across his neck and between his shoulder blades. They’re cold but that’s to be expected. Peter’s room was always a little too cold for comfort._

_“Yes, that’s it,” Chris hums as Peter presses himself into the touch like a cat - needy and pathetically grateful. “Show it to me, Peter. Yes. That’s it. Look at you; you can be such a sweet boy.”_

_He preens, stomach pushing out a little to better feel the fingers sliding across, urging him to lift up and put his ass on display; something he’s only too familiar with by now. He’s still growling low and content, head drooping because it was still swimming and the edges of his vision became fuzzy. He put it on his arms, sighing softly as Chris slipped behind him and stroked his weakened legs._

_This was wonderful. Perfect. He’s almost gotten used to the phantom conversations he’s had with Chris over the long duration of his imprisonment; but this… this was new. This was Chris actually here with him, touching him, stroking him, telling him what a good boy he was…_

_Peter whines soft and confused as he feels the blunt, dry press of a cock against his abused hole. He lifts his head weakly, vision blurry and tongue so, so dry. The feel of his empty stomach comes back with the profound need of wanting to drink something - anything._

_He hunches his hips instinctually, trying to get away from Chris’ insistent press while also not quite able to tell the hunter ‘no’. It is all so very confusing…_

_“He’s so obedient today,” he can suddenly hear Kate’s musing voice. It somehow hurts to roll his eyes and look up at her, eyes straining._

_“Yes,” he can hear from behind and it sounds less like Chris and more like… stranger. “He’s hallucinating again.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Your brother. Again.”_

_Peter manages to turn his head around and peek behind himself. He has Kate’s disappointed sigh in his ears as his fuzzy vision clears up just enough to realize it’s not Chris kneeling behind him._

_.oOo._

“Here, take this.”

Chris knows it’s a risk to put Peter on the spot - to step close enough that he can offer the towel on outstretched arms; but he also just can’t…

Chris was the kid that worried at his loose tooth until it fell out. He was the teenager testing his boundaries until his father _very firmly_ put him to place. He was the young man rebelliously playing with a wolf, playing with fire, until that fire burned almost all of himself out.

Peter leans away from him, jaw tense and lips pulling back from sharp teeth. His hands were curled into loose fists, brows drawn together stubbornly in a way that made Chris’ gut clench. Peter looked so _familiar_ in that second, that -

“Come on! Take it!” Chris voice cracks as he shoves the towel towards Peter; shoves his _self_ towards the wolf, _demanding_ him to acknowledge his presence.

Peter jerks back, feet slipping on the wet floor until he crashes down on his ass. Chris takes a startled step back even as the wolf tips his head back - shows off the vulnerable expanse of his throat, only covered by the leather collar stretched across it.

He’s submitting, panting through an open mouth - but still not _looking_ at him.

“Chris.” Victoria’s voice is sharp and precise, her gaze, as he turns around, unimpressed. Her arms are full with clothes - he can recognize one of his sweatshirts - even as Peter begins to whimper softly.

The closer Victoria steps, the further Peter slips down until he’s lying on his back, head still tipped in submission and naked belly on display.

“Leave it be,” she sighs, taking the towel from his hands and crouching down in front of the shower cubicle. “Peter,” she says slowly to the submitting wolf, “Dry yourself down. I need you to put some clothes on.”

He watches blearily as Peter slowly gets into motion. He’s shaky to the point where he almost doesn’t manage to put the clothes on himself, and Chris feels horrible for having induced the panic attack.

They leave all the sandwiches they didn’t eat on the plastic bag in the bathroom since they did not have any plates. Chris did not like making Peter sleep on the hard tiles but the wolf did not seem to mind.

He curled into a ball between toilet and shower and stuffed his face deep into the sweatshirt Victoria had given him.

Chris feels a little better at seeing that; at least he can pretend Peter derives a little comfort from his scent saturating the fabric.

.oOo.

He had kind of hoped the next day would bring answers but obviously that had been just wishful thinking.

He’s slept horribly and when Allison crawled onto him and told him she needed to use the bathroom, his eyes felt heavy and his bones ached.

He was about to get up and usher Peter out of the bathroom when Victoria’s hand reached out quick like a fish in water and stopped him.

“ _I_ will deal with it. _You_ go and get us internet connection.” Her tone was icy and business like; she obviously was still angry with him having made Peter panic but they were on the same boat at least - he wasn’t that happy with himself.

When he came back from getting the code for the no-doubt shoddy access, bags with their breakfast on his arms, Peter was in the main room and peeking out of the window while mother and daughter were occupying the bathroom.

As Chris stepped inside, Peter actually turned around to him, blue eyes alight with an air of _purpose_ that had been missing the last night. Chris stops, heart beating frantically in his chest and lips curving into a hesitant smile.

The soft ‘Hey’ dies on his tongue before the air can make it past his vocal chords as Peter’s face closes up again and he hunkers back down, chin dipping so he can bury his nose in the collar of his sweatshirt.

Chris takes a deep breath but doesn’t push this time. He spreads the breakfast - more sandwiches and pancakes as well as juice and coffee - out on the comforter of one of the beds, the one closest to Peter.

The wolf _does_ turn towards it but he doesn’t touch until Victoria comes out and tells him to gather a few things. Chris flees the room by getting into the shower himself.

.oOo.

By the end of the day, they have come to the silent conclusion that they’re going to move to Beacon Hills to keep an eye out for Kate - as much as it fills Chris with trepidation.

They also have cautiously written down a few available apartments but still are no closer to deciding what to do with the wolf placidly occupying their bathroom.

Peter hadn’t been aggressive even once but he also hadn’t spoken one word. Allison was equal parts annoyed and intrigued by the whole situation. Mostly, she wanted to look at him which was difficult since they explicitly forbade her to go into the bathroom by herself.

“He seems docile for the moment,” Victoria concedes. She looks as tired as he feels even though it was still early afternoon. The last night still sat in their bones, though.

“But he’s also highly unstable,” Chris voices what she doesn’t say, looking over towards where Allison is humming to herself while looking at the pictures in a magazine she found wedged between headboard and mattress.

“Keeping him would mean locking him away. He’s not safe to be around,” Victoria says and even though her face is blank of every emotion, Chris can hear the hesitation in her voice - how loath she is to talk about Peter like he was an animal.

Unfortunately, at the moment, he was little more than that.

.oOo.

“I just can’t believe he’s here,” Chris whispers into Victoria’s ear later that night. Allison is sound asleep, star-fished out on the bed next to them.

Victoria doesn’t make a sound but her hand comes up to draw tiny circles on his hip. He takes a deep breath and buries his face in her hair.

“God, I can’t understand how you do this,” he moans forlornly, “Now you have two fuck-ups you have to take care of.”

Victoria huffs and slides her hand down, seizing Chris’ ass and giving it an affectionate squeeze. “Both of them are ridiculously attractive, though… So it’s not that hard.” She gives him a pat and wriggles until she is sitting against the headboard.

“Come. Try the compartmentalization technique again.”

.oOo.

Allison’s giggling is what slowly but surely drags him up from the deep sleep. He groans and rolls over, slotting himself behind Victoria who is still out to the world.

“All’son,” he slurs half-heartedly, the word barely intelligible with his gravelly early-morning voice. Allison keeps giggling and then she’s exclaiming “Ewwww… that’s gross!” and that, at last, rouses him with a jolt because her voice bounces off the tiled walls of the bathroom and bathroom means _Peter_.

He’s out of bed, almost face planting because his legs are caught in the blanket he rips off Victoria in his haste to cross the couple metres towards the door in the tiny hallway. He can somewhere hear Victoria behind him as she is woken up by the ruckus but doesn’t care to spare a second and look back at her.

His stomach is clenched into a tight fist, balls feeling like they’ve crawled up into his body out of sheer panic of what he would find once he rounded the corner. He banged his toes against the doorframe and hated that he was only wearing a thin shirt and shorts and hadn’t thought of grabbing his gun from the bedside table.

Usually waking up in three seconds flat and firing on all cylinders was no problem - but usually he also wasn’t fearing for his only daughter’s life.

As it was, there was no blood to be found in the bathroom. Allison was perched on the closed toilet lid, one of her hands buried in Peter’s hair while she was holding the other one in front of the wolf’s face for him to lick at her fingers. She kept saying “eeewwww” but also didn’t pull away, turning her hand this way and that to make it easier for the big, rough tongue to slip between her fingers.

“Allison,” Chris says faintly, almost stumbling as Victoria pushes him forcefully to the side, one of her knives in hand even though she was only in skimpy underwear. The sight, coupled with the fact that Allison was obviously unharmed, did _things_ to him, so he quickly looked back, focusing on the girl who grimaced and pushed her slick hand through Peter’s hair to wipe the drool away.

The wolf obviously didn’t seem to mind; he had his chin perched on her knees and looked up at her with lazily half-closed eyes. His shifted features looked more peaceful than Chris had yet to see him.

“He’s like a puppy, dad,” Allison announces, fingers playing with the tips of Peter’s ears until he was rumbling low in his chest.

“Allison Argent!” Both kid and werewolf snap to attention at Victoria’s voice; Peter quickly pulls back from the girl while Allison slips from the toilet. “With me. Now.”

Peter looked crestfallen and Chris imagined for a second to go to him and comfort him - until he realized that he was still all but invisible to the wolf; so he closed the door silently, following his two women who were arguing too loud for his tastes.

He knew better than to get in their way, though.


	8. Chapter 8

Victoria has been gone to inspect the first batch of apartments for two hours when Chris gingerly peeks into the bathroom and realizes Peter still hasn’t touched his breakfast.

The wolf is curled in his usual spot between toilet and shower and looks forlorn. Chris bites the tip of his tongue and turns to look at Allison who is still a little mopey - but at least not crying anymore.

Finally, he pushes the door open wide and leaves it like that to sit back at the sole desk of the room where he’s managing their move from LA to Beacon Hills.

It doesn’t take too long until there is movement, Peter cautiously slinking to the door and then crawling out. Chris’ hand falls beneath the table and towards the gun at his thigh as the wolf immediately goes for Allison. However, he doesn’t jump on the bed even though she encourages him to after an excited exclamation; he just puts his head on the mattress and watches her with what Chris can only think of as _contentment_.

“What is your name?” she asks the wolf, both her hands once more buried in his hair, carding through the strands. Chris watches, fascinated with the fact that Peter gets practically boneless although he has been so very adamant at not getting touched by either Victoria or him.

There is a beat of silence before Allison frowns and gently pats his head. “Can you not talk?”

“His name is Peter, honey.” It’s out before he can hold it back and he winces at the way Peter stiffens.

“Do you know how to play cards, Peter?”

Chris looks away quickly but he can feel Peter’s gaze on him - surreptitious and unsure as if he was mulling something over.

.oOo.

Whether Peter wasn’t able to play cards or just had no interest in doing so was unclear. He seemed to be more interested in butting his nose against Allison’s hand or worming his head beneath her arm until she started petting him which was so painfully _Peter_ that Chris couldn’t watch it without his throat going tight and his stomach seizing up into cramps.

Somewhere in this silent, half-shifted wolf was still Peter; obnoxious, stubborn, self-indulging Peter… the thought hurt almost as much as it gave him tentative hope.

Victoria called around noon, telling him she had the perfect penthouse apartment and making Chris question once again what this scarily competent woman was still doing with him.

She sounded upset and curt after he told her about the Allison/Peter development and he couldn’t fault her. He, unlike her, _knew_ Peter at least from a time where he was still able to talk, and still he was anxious and reaching for his gun more often than not, afraid the wolf would snap after all and hurt his girl.

Peter, on his part, looked oddly disturbed every time Allison spoke to him. One time he even became so agitated as Allison crawled onto his lap that he fled into the bathroom and refused to come out for an hour, no matter how much the girl tried to coax him.

“When are we going to visit Aunt Kate again?” Allison asked after she had stopped trying to coax Peter and plopped down on the bed with a huff. Chris groaned, rubbing across his eyes and willing the problem to just go _away_. He was not yet prepared to think about Kate since only hearing her name made him go white hot with anger.

“Not for a while.”

“Why?”

“We’re busy, Allison.”

“But she isn’t that far? Can’t she help us?”

“No, she can’t,” he almost hisses, wincing at the surprised look Allison shoots him. He turns as he sees something in the corner of his eye but when he looks towards the bathroom door, he sees nothing.

“No, she can’t,” he repeats a little calmer, gazing out of the window, watching as the sun went down. He wonders what is taking Victoria so long.

“Did she hurt Peter?”

He hums non-committally and turns back towards the laptop but doesn’t really work on it. He’s deep in thoughts, thinking back on all the times he thought Kate was being too brutal until he starts to dissect each and every childhood memory. He wonders whether he should have seen it coming - should have been able to prevent it.

He had been responsible for her after his mother’s death. Should he have shielded her more from Gerard?

Chris does indeed hear Allison murmur, “There you are,” but doesn’t consciously register it until he feels a soft touch at his thigh.

He looks slowly down, blinking dumb at Peter cowering next to him, head still tilted towards his leg, blue eyes fixed apprehensively on Chris like he was getting ready to bolt.

Chris doesn’t know what to think about it - what to say about it. What to _do_ about it.

Peter’s sudden approach hits him like a brick wall, the unexpected proximity and acknowledgement makes heart jump uncomfortably in his chest.

“Daddy, I’m _hungry_.”

Both hunter and wolf flinch at the sudden, loud announcement. Peter skitters away a couple feet, looking profoundly disturbed by his own actions.

“How about we go out.” He knows his voice is a little louder than necessary but he feels jittery and nervous like a teenager at his first date and seeing the sweet bewilderment on Peter’s face doesn’t help in the least. “You can see if you find something your mother would enjoy eating.”

Allison’s chest puffs out a little and she scrambles to get her shoes, leaving Peter and Chris to awkwardly glance at each other out of the corners of their eyes.

.oOo.

Chris is in such a good mood after Peter’s unexpected move on him that he lets Allison ride his shoulders as they make their way down from the first floor of the motel rooms. The street lamps are already on, giving off flickering light by which to see by.

The premise of the motel seems just as abandoned as it had been the last times he’s been out. He’s not surprised - it’s shabby and ugly but it had been the nearest and they had figured - correctly - that nobody would question three adults and a child getting a room.

They hadn’t quite left the premise yet when Chris’ phone went off in his pocket. Allison was humming and gently kicking her heels into his chest as he dug for it. He felt loose for the first time in _weeks_ \- since Kate had told him their father had decided to do the gathering in Beacon Hills - and it showed in his voice as he pressed the phone against his ear and hummed a greeting into it.

“Chris.”

He immediately comes to a standstill, the hairs on his arms standing up in anticipation at the tightness in Victoria’s voice. He can hear her soft panting as if she had been running…

“Something is here, Chris,” she’s whispering, voice tight in his ear, and his stomach clenches in worry. “I’ve tried to erase my tracks but I don’t think I managed to lose it.”

“It? No human?”

“No.”

He is getting on his knees slowly, allowing Allison to slip off of his shoulders. “Where are you?”

“Just down the street from the motel. I should go the other way, though - get him away from you and-”

“No! Stay where you are, I’m gonna-” he interrupts himself in order to look at Allison; her small face is solemn and it makes him cringe to think that she is in any way used to the strange things happening in her life. He digs in his pocket and gives her the key to their room. “Will you find your way back, Allison?”

“Chris, don’t let her alone when there is a creature running around!” Victoria gripes at him from the phone. He grits his teeth, for once ignoring the immediate instinct to cave in and do what Victoria tells him. “I won’t let you run around this hellhole of a city with an unknown creature at your back!”

Allison is already on her way, the flat heels of her shoes clicking over the asphalt as she runs across the courtyard separating one wing of apartments from the other, and it warms Chris’ heart to know how good his little girl could be. It was only a few metres before she’d be in the protection of the motel room.

He turns around, running down the street while pulling a gun from the small of his back where it had been concealed beneath his jacket.

“I’m coming, Vic. Just wait where you-”

There’s a piercing scream and an ugly, feral snarl interrupting him from behind. Chris slides to a hasty halt - the ground slippery from recent rain as for a second he can hear nothing but the pumping of his heart, eyes bulging as he stares at the corner Allison has rounded not even a minute ago. Victoria’s voice screams at him through the phone which is sliding out of his limp hand, “What was that?! Chris, _what was that?!”_

It jerks him out of his stupor.

He steps on the phone and demolishes it in his haste to turn around. He stumbles and for a long moment, as the ground comes closer and closer, there is this little voice in his head telling him ‘Christopher! Get your damned feet beneath yourself! Don’t you _dare_ fall. I won’t help you up if you’re too _dumb_ to walk’ and it sounds like his father from so many years ago. His hand shoots out; he scrapes the heel as he braces himself on the asphalt for a split second, pushing himself off and using his momentum to get catapulted forward.

Time seems to snap back into place, surroundings sharpening as adrenalin helps his thoughts settle, Victoria’s quiet tutoring from the night before kicking in. It is almost scaring him back out of the headspace, the fact how detached he suddenly gets - how his hands still their shaking even though there’s another roar and a piercing scream.

He rounds the corner right when there’s a crash that sounds like splintering wood. He can see how Peter slams the door he ripped out of its hinges into a humanoid creature, taking them both down over the banister. They crash into the courtyard with a sickening thud.

“Allison?” Chris cries, eyes and gun trained on the creatures. Peter is the first to get up since his fall was dulled by his opponent that was wedged between concrete and door. Only when the other creature suddenly rears up, large hands gripping for the werewolf, does Chris recognize the shifted face - another Wendigo.

Was it related to the one Peter had already killed? Had it followed the scent of _Argent_ with the intent of taking revenge for it’s mate?

“Allison?!” he screams again, eyes flicking left in an effort to spot his little girl while not taking his eyes off the two creatures writhing in the courtyard after crashing together almost head on. It is a strange fighting technique for a werewolf - and for Peter especially. Peter was a cunning fighter - no brute. He used to went out of his way to avoid injury; but now, watching as the wolf’s sharp claws dig into the Wendigo’s temples because he was trying to rip its eyes out, he thinks Kate had her fingers in this.

“Dad?!” he can suddenly hear over the roar of the two beasts. “Daddy?”

It sounds strained and panicked, Allison’s high voice shrill and breaking.

“Allison!”

Victoria is suddenly right there at his shoulder, eyes wide and hair wild. Her feet on the wet ground were vulnerable and naked. She must have tossed her heels in favour of being able to _run_ and Chris is thankful for the pair of extra eyes because he can’t see his little girl. He can’t see her but she is crying in panic and he can’t get a fucking clear _shot_ ; not when Peter and the Wendigo are curled into each other like angry cats.

Peter’s legs are clamped around his opponent’s waist, his sharp teeth biting again and again at shoulders and arms of the creature while the Wendigo howls and drums large fists against the wolf’s back.

It was only a matter of time until Peter would have to retreat. Wendigos were physically stronger than werewolves, after all.

“Mommyyyy,” Allison was screeching and finally Victoria jolted at his side. Sharp fingers clawed into his upper arm, her free hand shooting out to point up as her face transformed into a mask of shock and anguish. To see _Victoria_ , of all people, react like that is almost enough to scare him from looking but… how could he not? It was about his _little girl._

When Chris finally looks away from Peter twisting his way out of the Wendigo’s crushing arms because, Allison is _right there_ , hanging from the banister over the fighting creatures. She is hanging by the tips of her fingers by that point, legs kicking a good nine feet above the ground as she sobs in panic.

And they’re _too far_ from her; too far to be able to do anything, to catch her when she falls, rushing down to the hard ground.

It is almost instinctual at that point to scream for the only person who was close enough; the only one who would be able to keep Allison from snapping her neck.

“ _Peter!”_

It is a thing of split seconds - Peter twisting his head towards him and then following their gazes towards Allison - but it feels like _minutes_. Like _hours_. Like _too long_.

The wolf roars, turning his back on the rampant creature but only getting as far as one loping jump before the Wendigo snatches his leg out of the air, causing him to crash down to the ground lengthwise.

The impact is hard enough that Chris imagines he can feel the vibrations into his legs. Victoria at his side is screaming - wordlessly, shapelessly screaming as they watch their child’s fingers slip from the wet steel.

Peter is roaring again, electric blue eyes fixed on Allison as he kicks with both feet, uncoordinated in his haste to get away from the clutching, huge paw of the Wendigo. It is only with luck, that his flailing manages to dig his heel into the creature’s eye-socket.

The second the grip on his leg slackens, Peter gets his feet beneath himself and propels his body forward like a bullet, arms stretched out to snatch the girl out of the air. The landing is graceless and ugly; they roll and skitter for several feet until the garbage cans lined beneath the stairs to the second floor halt their momentum.

Victoria immediately runs, bare feet slapping against the ground as the Wendigo snorts and shakes off the hurt of having gotten kicked in the eye.

It takes off in the same direction though Chris is not sure whether it wants to rip into Peter or Allison at that point.

Either way - it doesn’t get far.

.oOo.

Victoria hears the gun go off and turns just in time to see the large body wavering, stumbling - losing its footing and purpose before it comes crashing to the ground.

By the time she falls to her knees next to the huddled mass of werewolf and Allison, Chris has jogged up to the Wendigo. She can hear two more shots although she is certain that the beast had been dead after the first one - Chris was an excellent shot. She didn’t begrudge him the joy of putting more lead into the creature’s head, though.

Not when she nervously pushes Peter’s heavy arm out of the way to get at her little girl.

“Allison?” she whispers, hands shaking like they hadn’t in years. “Allison, honey, are you all right?!”

She barely dares to move the child - the picture of Allison falling seems to have burned itself into her retinas and suddenly she is afraid to touch her too harshly; to hurt her after all.

It takes Peter grunting and gently pushing the clinging child away until Allison finally looks up and blinks wearily. Her face is wet with tears and snot but she seems unharmed for the most part. She cries out in distress as she sees her mother, immediately letting go of Peter’s sweatshirt to thrust her arms towards Victoria who scoops her up eagerly, sitting her down on the ground and checking her over with trembling, numb fingers.

There are cuts and bruises on her legs and her face; her left cheekbone seems to have taken the brunt of it; it is swelling even as Victoria watches but she is _alive_ and _well_ and Victoria thinks she might be about to faint.

When Peter moves, he does so gingerly - wincing at whatever hurts he has sustained during the fight and subsequent tumble along the ground. He doesn’t look that worse for wear, though - the werewolf healing is already kicking in until the deep gashes in his arms and shoulders are only sluggishly bleeding.

He flinches away when Victoria reaches for him, but her hands are firm and she doesn’t let him worm his way out as she pulls him closer to press kisses against his forehead and one against his bloody mouth.

When she pulls back, Peter looks almost shellshocked; his gaze slides away to the side and he is pliant in her grip. He slips away the second she lets him go, though; crouching to the side with his leg extended awkwardly as he waits for it to heal.

They leave the motel that same night even though they wouldn’t get the keys to the apartment until 10 am the next day.

Neither Chris nor Victoria bring up their worries about keeping Peter again. Victoria just smiles tiredly when she looks into the backseat and sees Allison sprawled across the worn-out wolf.


	9. Chapter 9

Peter follows Allison everywhere and if he had been able to make her dinner, they think it would have even been possible to leave him alone with the girl as they tried to manage their move as efficiently as possible.

As it was, one of them needed to supervise both of them which fell more often than not into Chris’ hands.

It was fascinating to watch, to be honest; Peter didn’t have it in his nature to be playful or overly affectionate - but he _did_ sit still while Allison climbed all over him and he _did_ let her ride his shoulders while she ripped on his hair until Chris told her to take it down a notch.

The apartment was large and beautiful - if still utterly barren and Chris had Allison sit on his lap and help him decide what she wanted to have in her room.

Outside, clouds started gathering, balling up until they darkened the sky. Peter was sitting on the broad window sill, extremities tucked towards his body as he seemed to be engrossed into the comings and goings on the pavement down below - though every time Chris turned his head and looked over, the wolf was in the process of turning _away_. As if he had been watching _them_ instead of the people.

“Do you still like watching the start of a thunderstorm?”

It slips out before he can hold it back. His arms are curled tightly around Allison, fingers prickling with the sudden, almost unbearable need to _touch_ because Peter is sitting right there; right there in some of his old clothes like he had just come tumbling out of Chris’ bed, looking unexpectedly soft and _familiar_.

He wants to go over; wants to bury his face in Peter’s neck.

Allison is not paying attention to them, her critical gaze captured by all the small children desks on the screen of the laptop; unaware of just how much her father wants to get up and kiss this half-feral man.

He had felt that yearning for days now - but it had been soft, almost as if muted by a barrier of thick glass and now that he finally could sit down and take a breather, it all came crashing down on him.

“Do you still like the smell?” he rasps, voice cracking half-way through.

Peter’s pointed ear twitches the faintest bit, blue eyes watching him cautiously from their corners and he almost gives up hope - almost thinks Peter will ignore him _again_ …

But then the wolf turns his head and actually _looks_ at him; critically, too - with eyes scrunched the slightest bit and a frown on his face. He looks like he wants to say “Stop the bullshit, Argent.”

He doesn’t - of course he doesn’t. Instead, he ducks his head and buries the lower half of his face in Chris’ old shirt; looking suddenly… shy?

Chris swallows against the feeling of a tight throat and quickly lowers his own head, hiding it in Allison’s hair since he can feel heat creep up his face.

Victoria would mercilessly laugh at them had she been able to witness their stupid little-boy antics.

.o.

It is that very same night, as Victoria is tucking Allison in on the single mattress lying in her new room and Chris is in the kitchen, getting two bottles of beer, when _it_ happens.

When Peter, who he had thought was with their little girl _as usual_ , was suddenly smashing his face against the hunter’s thigh.

Chris freezes, breath stuttering in his throat as he looks down, stares at the way Peter’s shoulders are shaking. He can feel the gust of deep, frantic breaths through the fabric of his loose sleep pants; deep breaths designed to scent him.

Grasping, sharp-clawed hands are pulling and tugging on him and Chris can’t let the bottles clatter down on the counter quick enough to follow the silent demand - to follow the surprisingly bossy but utterly welcome wolf down on the tiles.

“Peter?” he whispers before the breath gets knocked out of him by the wolf suddenly tackling him, the large bulk hot and shivery atop him. “Peter… god… _Peter_.”

He chants it like a mantra, soft, little gasps that he presses into the wolf’s hair - _his_ wolf’s hair. Peter is eager like a pup; whining and howling softly as he tries to crowd in even more, body heavy as he presses him down into the ground.

His face is rougher than Chris can remember. He’d still had the slight softness of youth the last time they had seen each other before the fire - cheeks still mostly smooth. Chris can still feel them under his fingertips. He can still remember how it felt to cup them, feel them bulging out when Peter felt like teasing him during those messy, eager blowjobs.

Now, both their stubbles scraped together as the wolf buried his head into his throat, the fur on the sides of his face tickling Chris’ lips.

“Oh boys,” Victoria whispers when she finds them intertwined on the floor. Chris almost wants to apologize; almost wants to stutter that it was not like she thought-

But the words die in his throat because… it _was_ like she thought. It _was_ the way it looked like. And she was _okay_ with it.

She sat down on the floor with them, silently watching but not touching - not coming close because Peter was _still_ wary of her. Was still watching her cautiously from beneath Chris’ jaw and pulling his leg closer to his body so the naked, clawed toes wouldn’t touch her.

It was a silent and comforting company. Peter was too heavy to hold for long but he didn’t let him move away either. He wanted the weight. _Needed_ it.

Needed to feel the living body press him down; needed to feel the ragged, wet breaths against his skin; needed to smell the scent that had become unfamiliar. Needed to feel Peter subtly shake, and hold his wolf as he mourned everything he had lost all those years ago in the fire.

Victoria opened the beer for them after god-knew-how-long and Chris was happy to share his with Peter; watch his wolf’s tongue come out and lap at it.

When the inevitable drop was spilled, Chris dived in without thinking about it. Peter stilled at the feel of lips dragging along the corner of his mouth and the prickle of stubble on his skin. For a moment all three seem to stop breathing; then Peter practically purrs and nuzzles against the side of Chris’ face and the spell gets broken.

There still was so much plainly _wrong_ … but it suddenly didn’t seem insurmountable anymore. It felt like they could actually _make_ it.

.oOo.

It’s him. It’s actually him. None of his hallucinations have ever lasted that long. Have ever been so persistent. He’s been watching him and scenting him and listening to the voice that’s been so much deeper than he remembers it.

He can’t believe that Chris is a father; but he still smells as delicious as he had so long ago. He still smells like _home_. Peter wants to hunt again - he wants to lay his prey down to his feet.

…

Lying in front of the pup’s new bed usually helps with keeping his demons at bay… but not always. As she is sleeping peacefully, he drifts off into one of his nightmares; directly back into the cold, dark prison.

 _He can smell her even before she opens the door. She smells of blood and sweat and fatigue. He likes all those smells, but he doesn’t like_ her _._

_He watches her cautiously as she makes her way wearily to her chair and sits down with a soft ‘oof’._

_“Come here, sweetheart,” she says after a minute of silence, one of her hands beckoning him closer. He keeps watching for another second, muscles tensing slowly until he sees the small device in her other hand and immediately deflates._

_Kate obviously never forgets her little remote to all those shockers in his collars. He comes closer, trying not to show his reluctance. He nuzzles her hand like she had taught him and licks her fingers until she pushes his head away._

_“I’ve been out hunting all night. My feet are killing me.”_

_It is hard to work when his hands are ending in sharp claws, so he is careful when he starts unbuckling her boots._

_He flinches at every motion of hers - he has learned to fear the deceptively thin fingers of women; the seductively rounded bodies that were so freakishly strong and could hurt_ so much _._

_So when she says, “Good boy. Let me give you a reward, sweetheart,” he is shaking and starting to sweat with animal panic._

He roars when he comes awake from the dream, claws poised to rip into soft flesh - and halting just centimeters in front of the vulnerable throat of his pup.

Her eyes are large, hand still out and fingers at his biceps to wake him up. Had he made noise during his dream?

He wants to say ‘sorry’ but all that comes out is a low growl and it slays him that the pup suddenly skitters away from him, eyes jumping from the claws that had almost killed her to his face and back again.

‘No,’ he wants to say, ‘no, pup… don’t be afraid.’

The shift happens naturally and he barely feels it even though it had been so _long_ that he had been allowed to be just a man.

Her small mouth opens and he can’t tell whether it is in fear at having watched his features shift or in surprise. She doesn’t make a sound, at least.

“I’m sorry,” he says - slurs with a tongue that has almost forgotten how to work properly around words. “I’m sorry, pup.”

“Peter? What have you done?” He winces away from the door, her mother looking beautiful in the thin nightgown; beautiful and feminine. Deadly.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, hands with blunt nails raised in supplication. He suddenly fears not only losing the pup but also Chris - who is away on a trip and whose loss he already feels keenly.

This woman would have the power to take both from him. He knows it. He _knows_ it.

“I almost hurt her. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

He can’t decipher her face, she is a cool ice-queen most of the time; he also doesn’t know whether she even understands his mumbling.

“Calm down. You didn’t hurt her… but maybe you should sleep in the sitting room for the night?”

It was an order concealed in a question - he’s intimately familiar with them at this point.

He does follow her without arguing into the sitting room - crawls on all fours even though he’s been trying walking on two legs the past couple days, gauging whether anyone would object to it. (Nobody had.)

He watches her take out a blanket and a pillow, spreading both on the new couch in the still unfamiliar smelling sitting room. Her movements are flowing. Water-like. Not hectic, angry movements.

When she steps back and merely wishes him a ‘good night’ he can’t sleep for the longest time, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The next day, Allison sits down next to him as if nothing had happened and asks him to show her his ‘trick’.

And even when Chris comes back and stares _stupidly_ long at him as if he had never seen him in this form before, _the asshole_ , nothing bad occurs to him.

So he still watches cautiously – but he also allows himself to relax a little bit.


	10. Chapter 10

Victoria usually never has problems with her energy levels; she rarely runs out of steam even after a long, hard day.

If there are _several_ of those days, however, stringing together like they had those past three weeks… well. She likes to think she deserves feeling overwhelmed every once in a while.

Especially since Allison will already be in bed now and she won’t even have the indulgence of watching her husband and Peter dance around each other like love-sick boys. It had been nice the past week to witness them sneak glances and touches; oddly shy around not only Allison but also herself.

Chris is still on his way back home when she lets herself into the new apartment and immediately slips out of her heels. Peter’s head pokes out of Allison’s room at her low moan of elation, a frown on his thankfully human face.

He was a gorgeous boy - man, really - and she did tremendously enjoy watching him even though he still was so very shaken around her.

“Everything all right?” she asks him; it gets easier, now, to keep her voice soft around him. She also makes a show out of putting her knifes away; slipping one after the other out of the various hiding places around her body under his watchful gaze.

He doesn’t answer immediately - sometimes doesn’t answer at all - but finally he nods and simply says, “Yes.”

He has a smooth voice. It had surprised her that first time she had heard it. Smooth and purring and more cat-like than befitting a wolf.

“Did you have a long day?”

She tries not to let her surprise at the question show, but she _does_ hesitate for a second in putting her purse away, eyes sliding towards where Peter is cowering in the doorframe, still not able to meet her eyes.

“Yes,” she says smoothly, not losing a beat, “Yes, it was a long day. But I’m home now, so it will be better soon.”

She lets him sit there and ponder her words, gets into the living room and breathes in the smell of new furniture which still lingers in the air.

“Can I do something for you?”

He is closer than she anticipated; his breath ruffles the short hair behind her ear and she involuntarily closes her eyes as she feels her nipples tighten in response. Her breath stutters and skin prickles like it does when you find yourself witnessing a shy animal starting to open up to you.

She wonders whether it is some kind of test on his side; should she tell him what to do? Would he take it as a sign for a new owner? Should she tell him she was all right on her own? Would he think she rejected him?

In the end, she went with her gut instinct.

“You could open the window. Let the evening air in - I don’t enjoy the scent of new furniture.”

He is quick and silent, moves fluently as he walks past and pushes one of the two large windows open. He seems… eager as he turns around, face as open as seemed possible for this broken man, arms hanging loosely by his side.

Only now does she realize that he is walking on two legs; he looks even more vulnerable like this. Like he offers himself up to her. Opens his body to her whole gaze.

“Thank you,” she says softly and watches his lips open, his chest stutter on the hitched breath.

“Can I… can I do more?” he asks and still has his head tilted slightly - just… just _so_ that he doesn’t look at her.

“Do you want to?” she asks back, slowly making her way to the couch and sinking down on it. He watches - very quickly - and looks away again. After a second or two he nods jerkily and tilts his head - bares his beautiful, thick throat to her; shows her the collar another person has put on him.

She wants to take those ugly bands off of him. But it’s not time for it. Not yet.

“Come here, Peter,” she whispers. She feels a hot rush trickling through her body as he immediately obeys; the strong body smooth and silent as he comes closer eagerly; folds himself down in front of her. A wolf kneeling of his own volition at a hunter’s feet.

“What do you want to do?” she asks, fingers tingling with the need to touch him; to pet him and tell him he is doing good. Reassure him. She doesn’t, though, because he looks like he might shatter at the barest touch; at just a word too much.

In the end, he gently pulls her feet into his lap. He is trembling with the motion but when he puts his large palms over the backs of her feet, they’re warm and gentle.

“You don’t have to do that, Peter. You can go back to Allison if you like to. There will be no bad repercussions.”

She pretends she doesn’t hear the pathetic little whimpering sounds he makes and she shushes him gently when he curls forward and places his forehead against her knee.

She still doesn’t touch him, though.

And when Chris finally comes home he finds them right there in the same spot. Peter is gently rubbing her feet and looks at ease with the world - eyes heavy-lidded and lips soft as Victoria purrs every now and again at the almost-massage, telling him what a good boy he is.

.oOo.

Chris supposes it would’ve been nice if everything had just gone smoothly. But… it was still Peter they were dealing with. Peter who had been snappy all on his own even without the added trauma to make dealing with him like walking through a minefield.

Sitting there next to Victoria, staring dumbly at the spilled wine on the floor, he thinks glumly that it had been their fault, too. Since Peter had come to them, they had gone with the rule of thumb of not really addressing what had happened to him. He admits that they’ve made it easy on themselves.

Peter had just seemed so _willing_ to ignore it himself. He was easily cowed and skittish at times, yes… but he was also so very _tactile_ now; crawling practically into Chris’ lap and demanding to be touched; always sitting close enough to Allison that they brushed.

They also couldn’t very well bring him to a psychiatrist. What were they supposed to say? That Chris’ crazy sister had imprisoned him for seven years just for being a werewolf?

Yes… maybe Kate being in the mix had only worsened the denial on his part.

“Oh god,” he groans and puts his face in his hands. Victoria doesn’t say anything; God only knew what went through _her_ head after the disaster.

It had all begun so well - Peter being beautifully trusting as he had crawled from Chris to Victoria after side-eying her for almost the whole two hours the hunters had finally sat down in the living room.

And she _had_ done well; not showing her surprise too much as she’d slowly reached over and touched his cheek with dry, sure fingertips, whispering soft “Good boy”s and “Very good, Peter”s and “Look at you”s.

Chris had been able to see how the wolf’s eyes had slowly gone heavy-lidded, head drooping at the soft scraping of sharp nails against his scalp, chin dragging the slightest bit along Victoria’s naked knee. Everything had gone so _well_ until it had happened _._

Until she had cupped his chin in one hand and carded the fingers of the other through the soft strands of his hair and had sighed, “So good for me, Sweetheart.”

Chris seldom had seen such an immediate, explosive reaction of dislike like Peter’s who reared back with a roar as if he’d put his leg into a bear trap, flinging himself away so violently that he crashed into the low table behind him, causing one of the wine glasses to topple over.

It all had happened so fast - the wolf’s face a mask of rage and painful confusion as he had thankfully backed away instead of attacking in his panic before he fled the room.

Leaving them how they were now.

“I forgot she called him that,” Victoria says after a while, voice dark and moody.

“It’s not your fault,” he answers lamely, knowing full well that it wasn’t that easy. It wasn’t _her_ fault, maybe. But it was _their_ fault.

Victoria makes a harsh noise of disgust and reaches for the sole glass still standing. She downs the contents in one large gulp, and then makes her way silently to bed.

When Chris is ready to follow her five minutes later, he looks for his wolf first. Predictably, he finds Peter in Allison’s room, curled up behind her bed with her arm lying limp over the side as if she had sleepily petted him before sinking back into her dreams.

.oOo.

Chris is sitting on the edge of the open car trunk, watching as Allison runs to one of the trees and pins a target to it. He is surprised when Peter sits down next to him instead of following the girl’s every step like he usually did.

He was even more surprised when the wolf pressed needily against his side, nose tucked unapologetically beneath the angle of his jaw.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, eyes still on Allison who was fumbling with her little bow a little ways away. “You feel better?”

He doesn’t really expect an answer since even though Peter now was in human form practically all the time and very obviously _could_ speak - he just didn’t do it. He preferred to keep silent and watching, a trait Chris found alienating on a man who’d been so snarky and sarcastic.

“I was a little startled. That is all.”

Chris pulls in a sharp breath at the soft voice directly next to his ear, a frisson of heat sizzling through his body. He closes his eyes for a moment and swallows against his suddenly dry throat.

“A _little_ startled?” he whispers back, digging fingers into his pants at Peter’s soft huff; at the way the warm breath ruffles the hair behind his ear.

It felt… it felt _amazing_. To talk with Peter like that. To almost joke like in the good old times.

“She’s angry now.” Peter tries to sound casual, he can tell, but the wolf looks more like a little boy, shoulders slightly pulled up to his shoulders and fingers tugging at the cuffs of the shirt he’s wearing.

“You sound like a lovesick teenager,” Chris snorts and digs his elbow in a friendly nudge into Peter’s side. “Try again!” he calls out to Allison when the bow slips out of her fingers prematurely, sending the arrow tumbling to the ground.

It takes a while until he realizes Peter hadn’t answered. He watches the wolf for a while, observing the way he seemed to have ceased breathing.

“She is not angry with _you_ , you know,” he says after searching carefully for words and pulling a blank. Peter ducks his head lower, shoulders pulling up to his ears.

“She’s angry at herself for not remembering that Ka-… For not remembering. That’s all.”

Peter snorts derisively and Chris, funnily enough, feels better for it.

“She’s important to you.”

“She’s my _wife_. If you hadn’t noticed.”

“Well, the smell gave it away. Yes.” Peter rubs his hands together, shoulders pulling up even tighter. He looks so uncomfortable.

“I didn’t want you to marry her,” the wolf says towards the ground. Chris’ breath punches out of him but he doesn’t answer; doesn’t want to make Peter shy away from talking once more. His fingers prickle nonetheless as he pretends watching Allison retrieve one of her arrows; as he tries to figure out what it means that Peter actually acknowledges their past together.

“You hadn’t even known who she was beyond her name. I wanted you for myself, though. I don’t like sharing.”

“You always wanted to be in the center. Narcissistic asshole.”

Peter growls but it is soft and deep in his chest, sounding more like a purr than anything else.

“I don’t want to be… ah… _startled_ … by her, every time I see her. I want her to like me.”

Chris feels like there was more being said - with Peter, there _always_ was more being said. As it is, Chris just nods and carefully reaches over until he can stretch his fingers and touch Peter’s hand without the werewolf pulling back. He feels like they’re taking steps forward.

“I would have never thought you would be a father one day.”

Chris doesn’t know why but the statement embarrasses him to the point of turning his head away so Peter wouldn’t be able to see the faint blush. It is silly, really - they’re both grown man now and it wasn’t like… it wasn’t like Peter hadn’t ever…

He shies away from the thought immediately, not yet ready to think about it - if ever. It was hard enough to fall asleep at night with the image of that hunter stepping out of the room, pants still open and face red with exertion. The image of Peter kneeling on that bed, shaken but resigned, thighs a mess of sticky cum leaking out of his abused body…

“Such a beautiful pup,” Peter whispers next to him, unknowing of the dark turn Chris’ thoughts had taken.

“Yes. Yes she is,” he murmurs, gently bumping shoulders with the wolf.

“Must have it from her mother.”

Chris snorts at the derisive comment, belly prickling in excitement.

.oOo.

That night Peter is almost stubborn to the point of Chris ending the whole encounter - and if he interprets the look on Victoria’s face correctly, she feels the same way.

The wolf is surprisingly moody, dragging his feet every step of the way into the living room after having spent an hour with the sleeping Allison. He looks tense and unhappy, head cocked away from Victoria the whole time.

Chris catches her eye and grimaces when he sees his exact thoughts mirrored in her steely blue eyes: back to square one.

“Come here,” Chris rumbles, reaching for Peter who seems to loosen at the command. It is as fascinating as it is sad to watch the once fiercely independent wolf be so… eager to obey. So pliant and needy as he steps into Chris’ arms, blue eyes wide and betraying the fear he feels at having the huntress at his back.

“Shhh. Let me see…” His voice is a low rumble, one arm hooked around the thick waist to keep Peter close as he tips the wolf’s head back with the other. Peter goes easily; too easily. Too easy to bare his throat and submit to just about anyone. Chris grits his teeth and pushes the agitation he feels at that down, instead spanning the vulnerable throat, thumb slipping across the collar wound tightly around it.

“You’re no lapdog, Peter. You don’t need a collar.” His hand slides along the roundness of the wolf’s shoulder, curls around the bicep and squeezes where he can feel the hardness of another band beneath the old sweater he’s stolen from Chris. “You don’t need any of them.”

Victoria shifts slowly, gradually into the vision of the wolf. “I would cut them off, Peter. If you’d let me.”

The wolf tenses between the hunters. He’s skittish, breath coming in small bursts as he watches Victoria from the corner of his eyes and reaches up to curl fingers into the back of Chris’ shirt. His nod, when it comes, is almost imperceptible.

Nevertheless, when Victoria slowly pulls her knife, raising it so he can see the glint, he surges forward, a hurt whine ripping from his throat like a cry of distress a split second before he presses his lips against Chris’ in a bid to distract himself.

And… and… _oh god_. He’s missed it so much. Missed this. Missed holding Peter and feeling his mouth; and he was kissing just like he did back then, too - all over eager like a puppy, needy and pressing close with his whole body, mouth opening to breathe little puffs of air against his lips.

The thought that this, at least, hadn’t been sullied by Kate… is comforting. Although he doesn’t like the thought of Peter having went seven years without getting kissed.

.o.

She hesitates, then slowly lowers her arm again and takes a step back. She wonders whether she shouldn’t be feeling enraged; shouldn’t feel self-righteous fury at watching her husband kiss another person _right in front of her_.

Because she really _doesn’t_. She can’t feel betrayed or let down when she had seen this coming all along. When she’d secretly waited for them to take a step forward after they had been sneaking around each other like hurt puppies for weeks.

And it isn’t like it’s a hardship to watch the wolf crowd closer, eager little sounds spilling from him as he hooks his arms under Chris’ armpits and claws at his shoulders.

Chris’ eyes had been open in shock for a second or two until he’d gotten with the program and rumbled a happy little noise of his own, pressing back, lips opening and tongue coaxing until Victoria was treated to the sight of flashes of wetness and pink in between needily sucking lips.

She lets them enjoy it for a little longer - lets _herself_ enjoy it a little longer - before she steps closer, lets her hand touch the wolf’s elbow to get him acquainted to her presence.

He doesn’t pull back even though he jerks, hindered by Chris’ steely arms keeping him in place and the new, almost aggressive determination with which he attacks their wolf’s mouth.

“Good boys,” she hums and smirks as Chris’ steely blue eye flashes at her for a second. They _are_ , though. Very good boys, indeed. She lets her hand slowly travel up Peter’s arm, squeezing at his shoulder and inching towards the collar around his neck.

“You look breathtaking,” she whispers as she raises her hand with the knife, mouth curling in amusement as Peter pushes a little towards her and actually seems to start _preening_. Of course the pup loved getting praised like that.

The leather beneath her fingertips wasn’t well cared for. It was hard and cracked, making it easy to start working on getting it off.

“Hold still,” she says after a while, a frown of concentration on her face. There was _something_ embedded in the leather, hindering her to get through until she used more force and a clever flick of her wrist that had the collar snap open.

Victoria steps to the side, letting the wolf gingerly touch the newly freed skin while she inspects the collar, lips going tight and face closing off as she sees the wire inside that she had to cut through, a dozen-or-so contact plates running along the inside. It’s been pure luck that she’d gotten in between two on her endeavor to free Peter.

When she looks up, Chris is staring at the torture device as well, face blank except for a faint twitch at the corner of his eye.

Their wolf takes in a startled breath when they press against him from each side, trapping him between their warm hunter bodies but doesn’t try to fight them off.

He is docile and helpful when Victoria tells him to show her the other leather bands on his body, growling in satisfaction at her touches.


	11. Chapter 11

To try and go against Kate and her men was… not the easiest task. They had enjoyed Peter’s obedience too much as that they could even hope of getting sense back into them. Of appealing to their rational side that said that what they had done was plain _wrong_.

They’re out so often to make sure none of the few creatures in Beacon Hills get harmed more than necessary (or longer than necessary as the case was with a few of them) that their bones were aching by the time they got back from their hunts. It made them weary and exhausted them in a way that made their reactions sloppy and slow.

So coming home a little worse for wear after one of the encounters with men that had listened to _Chris_ not too long ago wasn’t that surprising.

It was nice that Peter was slowly crawling out of his shell. Great. _Wonderful_ , even. But that also meant he wasn’t as afraid anymore to say what was on his mind - to ask them again and again to take him with them on their hunts. To let him fight for them. To let him protect what was now _his_.

They had been able to placate him with Allison for a while, appealing to the fact that he’s been all but adopting her as his pup, and that she needed someone to look after her while they were gone; but coming home like that, Chris holding up his wife who’d hurt her ankle in another scuffle sent Peter almost into _rage_.

They had never seen him like that; growling and snarling, stalking the room and sniffing the air with unhappy sounds until he came closer and sniffed at them. His eyes had shone bright blue, face partly shifting for the first time in a long while.

“You take me with you,” he growls from deep in his chest, the sound going through Victoria since Peter was all but lying on her at that point. “You take me with you or I won’t let you go out anymore. You’re smelling all wrong. You’re _mine_.”

He bares sharp teeth at them, claws ripping into their clothes, not even placated by their soft shushes and petting hands. He makes a sound of profound disgust and shies away on all fours, eyes alert and gaze jumping between all the entries in the room.

.oOo.

They were discussing it in private and pleading with him in the open but Peter wasn’t swayed. He was upset and distressed, all of it leading to moodiness and downright aggressive behavior.

They never mentioned their fear in front of him: that he’d stumble upon Kate in the forest at one point. That they weren’t even sure _themselves_ what would happen if they saw Kate in Peter’s vicinity again… (which was a lie. Victoria made it quite _plain_ what would happen.)

In the end they had to concede that the chance was slim. Kate preferred to send her men out; in this, at least, she still followed what had been taught to her.

At least they had to admit: having Peter at their side in wolf form, a snarling beast full of claws and fangs, _did_ help.

.oOo.

She watches Chris standing at the window in nothing but his shorts. He looks tense and the muscles in his forearms are jumping with how his fingers are twitching at his sides.

“I just don’t want to make him feel like he _has_ to do it,” he rasps, and Victoria smiles a little, stretching herself out on the bed to grip the headboard. She rolls her body once, thrilled at the way she can see Chris’ eyes darken, his gaze slipping from her naked breasts to the small slip she was wearing.

“He’s _eager_ for it, Chris. He _wants_ it,” she says softly, voice dipped low and gaze sliding over towards the door. “He’s probably just outside.”

Peter’s been creeping closer and closer the past days; out of the haven of Allison’s room and down the hall until Victoria almost tripped over his sleeping form this morning.

“He yearns the touch, Chris. Why not give it to him?”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Chris whispers, hands flexing helplessly, face boyish in how much he _wants_.

“Then don’t,” she answers simply, watching as Peter softly presses the door open and hopefully looks at them.

He whines a little as she opens her arms for him.

.o.

Their pup is so _tentative_. His breath fans out across the crotch of her panties, eyes going heavy lidded as he smells her arousal, and yet he only noses at her for the longest while; soft touches against her covered center as she needs to spread her legs wide to accommodate the width of his shoulders.

“Good,” she purrs, hands slowly playing with her own breasts, fingers plucking the tightened tips as she stares at Chris; watches him kneel behind Peter and stroke the wolf’s back with an open, vulnerable expression she’s not yet seen on her husband’s face.

“Give me more, Peter?”

And she wants to clench her teeth - wants to _growl_ \- at the almost terrified look on his face; the way he keeps staring up at her with wide eyes as he pulls the crotch of her panties slowly to the side and very softly touches her with the tip of his tongue.

“That’s all right,” she rasps, one hand trailing down to gently card through his hair and tug on it playfully. “Doing so good, baby.”

It gets a little easier after that - especially when Chris pulls their wolf’s cheeks apart and buries his face in there, distracting him so perfectly by lapping and sucking at the tight hole.

Peter’s moans are long and rumbling like far away thunder, the vibrations making her grit her teeth and slowly close her eyes. He gets more eager, rocking back and forth between her cunt and Chris’ tongue, fingers trembling and gripping harder where they are lying on her thighs and spreading her open to his ministrations.

She doesn’t want to come, though - doesn’t _need_ to, at the moment. What she needs is to watch _them_. Watch Chris take Peter apart slowly, sweetly.

When she reaches for the wolf and urges him up and away from between her legs he looks startled enough that she almost debates letting him back down - letting those wet, lips resume their lazy licking and sucking until she could gush all over that attractive face.

Mark the wolf up with her juices.

“Come… turn around, Peter. Good boy. Yes. Just like this. Let me see it, hm? Let me see how beautiful you open up for him. You wanted this for so long, didn’t you? Did he tell you how often he fantasized about you? No?... How naughty.”

Her voice is a low purr and the two men are writhing for her. Peter had been pliant and obedient, letting himself get turned around and between her legs; letting himself get ushered into leaning back against her soft tits.

She wonders whether he will ever _not_ feel the need to obey. Whether Kate’s conditioning will wear off after a while. After they’ve been patient enough, maybe. Loving enough. She hopes it for him.

Chris looks young and embarrassed as he kneels between both their legs; embarrassed that she told the wolf about it. Peter makes a soft noise of inquiry.

“Oh yes, he did,” she stage whispers into their pup’s ear, nails raking across his broad chest until he arches up into the soft burn, legs falling open even more easily as his cock twitches where it’s lying heavy against his thigh.

“Thought about all the ways in which he wanted to take you. Wreck you on his cock. Thought about how perfectly you’d open up for him. How tight you’d be every time… and you’d be tight for him, right? Tight little pup for your mate?”

She gently scratches over the small, rust colored disks of his nipples, playing with them until the whine out of his throat sounds hurt and vulnerable. Until he’s writhing and his hips are jumping into the air as he reaches for Chris, hands grabbing uncoordinated and childish.

“Yes. That’s it. Reach for him, baby. You’ve missed him so much, haven’t you? He never forgot you, Peter. Never.”

Peter makes a strange sound at that, pulling Chris down who eagerly crashes their mouths together, licking into their pup and sucking on his tongue. Victoria listens and watches, rubs her cunt against Peter’s rippling back and cards sharp fingers through Chris’ short hair.

“Let me see it, Chris,” she urges after a while, teeth nipping at Peter’s ear in her own eagerness, voice low and throaty with her lust. “Let me see you fuck him. Wreck your wolf. Break him apart.”

Peter is keening when she reaches down and grips the backs of his knees. Pulls his legs up and makes him open and vulnerable for them. The wolf is scrabbling at the sheets, head tipping back against her shoulder, neck bared submissively as Chris starts to finger him open, his face tight in concentration and kindness.

It is breathtaking to watch two men as powerful as Chris and Peter; to watch the soft ripples of Peter’s muscles as Chris puts the leaking head of his cock against the prepared hole. She can’t see it but she imagines it - red and wet, mouthing at the swollen, fat head like a small mouth, so eager to open up.

Peter’s back arches, a sound like an animal roar slipping from his throat as Chris, mouth dropping open on an almost sub-vocal moan, slowly presses inside. Peter’s claws are out when he reaches for Chris’ shoulders, though he is still cautious enough only to put thin, pink welts into her husband’s skin.

She lets go of his legs at that point in favor of scratching his small nipples with one hand and pull Chris down by the neck with the other, either making her two boys kiss or getting one for herself. Chris is slow – his hips are rolling in sensual waves that have her cunt pulsate in sympathy with Peter’s low, throaty keening.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? He has such a beautiful thick cock. And it’s all for you, Peter. You like feeling him split you open? It’s like all the air gets pressed out of your lungs, isn’t it? Should he slow down? Do you want to take a break and _breathe_ around that fat cock spearing you open?”

She smirks at the wounded whine, at the frantic scrambling for her husband as Peter tries to curl around him, chin tipping up once more to bare his neck as his voice comes wobbling out, all shot and wrecked and _perfect_ sounding. “No. No, no, no, no, no. Need him. Need him. _Fuck_ , Christopher. Need you so much. _So much_. Feels so good. Don’t stop, don’t…”

“Hush,” Chris rasps, head dipping to bite Peter’s lower lip - his chin - his jaw - his neck…

Peter convulses, howls with a possessiveness that makes Victoria laugh softly into his neck. She can already see the telltale shaking of Chris’ shoulders - the tightness of the frown line between his eyebrows. It’s only logical to help. To wrap her fingers around Peter’s poor neglected cock, all hot and fat for them, drooling sticky pre-cum everywhere.

They press close to him as he comes, strong body convulsing as the wolf bites blunt teeth deep into his lost mate’s shoulder, and stutters his orgasm out with body-wrecking jerks.

.o.

They both watch him, afterward. The wolf laid out between two hunters, curled into himself like he has learned to sleep in seven years of imprisonment. His face is slack, though - sated after they had taken him apart and put him back together again; and when Chris gently takes their pup’s arms and uncurls them, Peter doesn’t so much as twitch.

Victoria watches as her husband spoons in tight behind the wolf; as he presses rough, scraping kisses across the width of his shoulders; all possessive and still with that disbelieving look on his face that seemed to have been frozen there since they had found Peter.

“I kind of want them to meet, now,” she whispers as it looks like Chris was ready to drift off, the man so boyish happy with his wolf in his arms. He raises a sleepy gaze to her and grunts inquiringly. She looks down at Peter.

“I want them to meet. I want to strangle her for what she did to him. And I want him to watch.”

Because Peter wasn’t healthy yet. Probably never would be. Never would be that sarcastic, self-assured asshole again that he’d been as a young man… and it was all Kate’s fault.

Chris is silent for so long that she thinks he’s fallen asleep. She shimmies down the bed and puts her face against Peter’s chest, breathing in the deep, wild scent of a wolf.

“I won’t stop you, should it come to it,” he whispers suddenly and strokes her naked hip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheeelp :) that's it^^ I hope you enjoyed it and I'm sorry it kind of has an open ending... but it's an hopeful open ending <3

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Didn't like it? Why don't you leave a little something :)
> 
> Fic title comes from the song "Murder By Numbers" by The Police.


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